The Swinging Pendulum of Conservation Politics

A new book dives into the ever-changing history of conservation legislation — and gives us a hint of the future.

The conservation movement can often take itself for granted. For all those who have advocated on behalf of public lands and animals, and who have petitioned elected officials about taking steps to protect and defend our land, air, water and food supply, the ceaselessly daunting task of defending our natural world and those who inhabit it can feel like a perpetual uphill climb.

Sounding the alarm and inspiring action, especially within the framework of our country’s legal and political system, is where the challenges often lie. That eternal struggle is illustrated in Daniel Nelson’s new book Nature’s Burdens: Conservation and American Politics, the Reagan Era to the Present (University Press of Colorado, $31.95), which covers the intersection of defending wildlife and wild places with the ever-changing political shifts at the White House and in Congress.

The book makes a deep, detailed dive into the history of conservation legislation, beginning in the late 19th century, when the first national parks were created. It soon moves into the 1960s and 1970s, explaining how critical pieces of legislation — specifically the Endangered Species Act, the Land and Water Conservation Act and the Wilderness Act — came into being. The book then shifts into the Reagan era and beyond, where we see the working of individuals (like Interior Secretaries James Watt and Bruce Babbitt), a variety of agencies (such as the U.S. Fish and Wildlife Service and National Park Service) and administrations — which, not surprisingly, view conservation differently depending on who occupied the White House at the time.

Political appointees in the Agriculture Department under Reagan, for instance, pushed for more cutting and logging in the Pacific Northwest. Following up on a campaign promise, one of President Clinton’s earliest initiatives was a “timber summit” that led to the Northwest Forest Plan. That plan, while controversial and not nearly as limiting and strict as environmentalists had hoped, led to significant reductions in logging. This kind of back-and-forth is a consistent theme.

But the most compelling elements of the book have less to do with legal maneuverings and bureaucratic wranglings and more to do with the shifts within the conservation movement and conservation science on the most efficient, effective ways to save species and public lands. Our understanding of the natural world, and what’s truly in the best interest of species and their habitat, evolved throughout this period — and continues to evolve. By referencing academic and scientific journals and reports, the author shows how nature doesn’t recognize our politically influenced rules and borders and boundaries; the interdependence of nature extends way beyond our political compromises.

Likewise, the timelines of natural evolution don’t hue to election schedules, making the task of marking — and even defining — success a critical challenge in it. This a key question Nelson asks: How do environmentalists measure progress? Is it by how many species are saved from extinction, or by how many acres are marked as national parks, refuges or wilderness? One of the compelling narratives in this book is how what environmentalists and conservationists are trying to change has evolved with scientific — and to some degree, philosophical — theory on species and land management.

Nelson references studies showing attempts to “return” areas to prior, pristine conditions (before grazing, development, etc.) may be inadvisable just as much as it may be impossible. Land and the species on it change and evolve; even trying to restore specific species’ populations to certain areas may not be in the best interest of that species if the other conditions that led it to thrive there initially are no long in place. Imposing human judgement on what we view is best for nature and animals has risks of its own; Nelson shows us that the reintroduction of some species in certain locales has worked, but over time, while what’s truly best is for us to leave nature alone, in as large as swaths as possible, and let nature take care of it on her own.

But over time — and this is where Nelson’s rigorous study most clearly elucidates the conservation challenge — competing interests among ranchers, hunters, livestock producers, real estate developers and conservationists have forced all kinds of compromises, and back-and-forth, in the political realm of land management.

And as administrations change, so too do their philosophies in terms of running the Interior department and its myriad agencies. With nature constantly evolving and our political landscape always changing, keeping things consistent over the long timeframes required by nature and species is almost impossible.

Nelson’s book relies heavily on legal specifics and political maneuverings, which at times made the text a bit dry. I wish he’d provided more color and commentary from politicians, agency staff and representatives of groups in the conservation movement. It would have brightened the material and made it feel more alive. Nelson spends a good bit of time on the histories and missions of various nature groups. Their growth and influence over the years are also an important focus of this book. Adding in more detail regarding the colorful personalities, and maybe a tad less focus on the fates of various legislative proposals, could have made this a more engaging and effective read.

The book concludes with the Obama presidency. We know — though it’s left unsaid — that the conservation pendulum in America has shifted again. A later volume could include details of the current chapter of the conservation struggle. But the point of this book, really, is that the pendulum never stops swinging. Coming to terms and dealing with that might be the conservation movement’s biggest challenge.

Can Plastic Ever Be Made Illegal?

Laws have banned plastic bags in some places, but taking the next steps requires overcoming some pretty major hurdles.

I thought I knew what garbage looked like. Then I arrived in Bangalore, the third-largest city in India.

There was trash was almost everywhere you looked. Plastic bottles, food packaging and other waste that could’ve potentially been recycled contaminated the landscape, even in people’s front- and backyards. When I’d ride into the city from the ashram where I was staying in the countryside, I’d inhale toxic fumes of garbage piles burning and observe wild animals rummaging through fields of trash.

During my first day on Commercial Street, one of the city’s busiest thoroughfares, I could feel the pollution sink into my pores and ignite oils on my face. The ground was no better. While wearing only flimsy flip-flops, I nearly stepped on a rat with a candy wrapper in its mouth.

My experiences weren’t just anecdotal. According to a 2016 study by the Indian Institute of Science, Bangalore generates 5,000 metric tons of garbage a day, of which only 10 percent on average is recycled. The city’s landfills, however, can only handle 2,100 tons of waste per day.

When I returned home, I quickly learned that Bangalore was not alone, and how the United States plastic lobby keeps its waste pollution behind closed doors. New York City — which has a population 1.5 million fewer people than Bangalore — throws away twice as much garbage; according to GrowNYC, residents of the Big Apple produce 12,000 tons of solid waste a day.

My experiences inspired a radical belief in me, going beyond plastic-bag bans and littering fines: Plastic should be illegal.

Communities around the world have taken action to ban single-use plastic bags. I began to wonder, could we ever take things a step further by banning plastic altogether? That’s not an easy question, I quickly learned, because not all plastics are created — and therefore, disposed of — equally.

When we explore the possibility of banning plastic, we need to be specific about which kinds. The base of all plastic is resins, which are composed of polymers. Different chemicals are required to make the many different types of resin. According to the American Chemistry Council, some common types include:

  • Polyethylene terephthalate, found in water bottles;
  • High-density polyethylene, included in bags for grocery and retail purchases;
  • Low-density polyethylene, used for food packaging and shrink wrap;
  • Polypropylene, utilized for medicine bottles and bottle caps; and
  • Polystyrene, typically in the form of Styrofoam.

Each of those types of plastic comes with different potential environmental costs. “The plastics of greatest concern from an environmental health perspective are polyvinyl chloride (vinyl), polystyrene, polycarbonate, and acrylonitrile butadiene styrene,” says Mike Schade, Mind the Store campaign director of Safer Chemicals, Healthy Families. “Using vinyl products exposes consumers to hormone-disrupting phthalates, which are dangerous at very low levels of exposure.” Even getting rid of vinyl is dangerous, he says, because incinerating it releases dioxins, one of the most toxic man-made chemicals.

Additionally, I found that not all plastics are regulated equally. Although there hasn’t been any federal U.S. legislation yet banning vinyl, or any other type of plastic, cities and states have successfully passed and adopted measures to ban plastic bags. According to the National Conference of State Legislatures, Austin, Cambridge, Los Angeles, Chicago, Seattle and San Francisco are among the cities to implement straight bans as opposed to fees. Meanwhile, statewide bans have passed in California and Hawaii.

“When it comes to high density polyethylene and other [types of] plastic bags, the biggest issues are with them clogging up landfills, polluting parks, and waterways,” Schade says. “Plastic bags are a huge solid waste problem and a waste of precious resources.”

According to the Earth Policy Institute, the United States consumes 100 billion plastic bags each year, which is enough to circle the equator 1,330 times.

What if plastic bags were to be banned in the United States, as they were in Kenya earlier this year? Unfortunately that legal battle would require likely copious amounts of money to fight the plastic industry, most notably the American Progressive Bag Alliance, a pro-plastic lobbying group run by the American Chemistry Council. In her documentary Plastic Patch: The Great Pacific Garbage Patch, which I initially watched after returning from India, journalist Angela Sun revealed that the council is an umbrella organization for Dow Chemical Company, DuPont and ExxonMobil.

According to a recent report in The Huffington Post, the group is the moneybag behind legislation to ban the banning of plastic bags. These types of laws have already passed in states like Florida and Arizona. As depicted in Sun’s film, the American Progressive Bag Alliance ran negative, untruthful commercials urging Californians to vote against that state’s proposed plastic bag ban years ago. This year, the Iowa became the most recent state to ban plastic bag bans following a push from the organization and the American Legislative Exchange Council.

Ironically, experts tell me that plastic-bag bans can actually endanger municipalities by instigating lawsuits from “big plastic.”

“Cities potentially expose themselves to lawsuits over environmental claims if they only ban plastic bags, but allow other bags to be given away for free,” explains Jennie Romer, a New York City-based attorney and founder of Plastic Bag Laws. Romer works with grassroots organizations in New York City to push for plastic-bag fees; according to The New York Times, Governor Cuomo quashed a measure to implement a 5-cent fee on plastic bags earlier this year.

There’s a reason why conversations about the plastics industry revolve around plastic bags: it’s a gateway to other environmental issues. Romer explains that once people get accustomed to having certain plastics banned, the plastic industry becomes concerned about the potential of all plastic products being banned rather than just bags. In other words, I realized that plastic bag legislation isn’t really about plastic bags; it’s about what other types of plastic can be potentially banned in the future.

While governments can regulate the plastics industry, ultimately, the effort to reduce plastic consumption comes down to shifting consumer behavior, Romer says. She adds that implementing fees encourage consumers to be more mindful compared to straight bans.

“People just don’t get a bag when they get an item or two or they bring a bag when they don’t want to pay a fee,” Romer explains.

While plastic bags are her focus, Romer also consults on expanded polystyrene, found in Styrofoam. She believes this type of plastic requires a straight ban because it breaks up more easily and cannot be recycled, unlike high-density polyethylene in plastic bags.

Sun tells me the government should have a role in regulating the labeling of plastic products. “Just because Bisphenol A [or BPA] is a buzz word and in social consciousness, the chemical industry can easily make a slight change and call it something else and still have a BPA-free label on it because it’s technically free of BPA,” she says. “Putting a BPA label on a baby bottle doesn’t mean it’s necessarily OK to be used.”

Sun also stresses that while governments should implement policies to reduce plastic consumption systematically, it’s up to individual people to raise awareness about the issue. No matter how much policy can influence our everyday lives, reducing plastic ultimately falls us — as individual consumers — to take action. This both inspires me and disappoints me, because it’s difficult to fight against a culture specifically designed to consume plastic. After all, bringing your own reusable bag doesn’t go very far when most of the products you purchase are packaged in plastic.

“Social change is hard to do, but it can be done little by little,” explains Sun. “Empowered citizens in different realms have pushed and lobbied for this change. It’s power to the people.”

While bans, whether they are for plastic bags or certain types of resin, seem to be the best idealistic policy for the environment, I learned that they can make governments vulnerable to lawsuits by the plastic lobby. While fees can inspire a change in consumer behavior without the potential of legal action, even those are difficult to just get passed. If we seriously consider banning plastic, not only do we have to specify which kinds, but we also need to work around a system heavily influenced by plastic manufacturers. Otherwise the United States’ garbage problem could start to look a lot more like Bangalore’s.

© 2017 Danielle Corcione. All rights reserved.

The Unexpected Ways Fracking Affects Air Pollution

Fracking has led to a large increase of hydrocarbon emissions in rural areas, reversing some regional air trends.

Urban air pollution in the U.S. has been decreasing near continuously since the 1970s.

Federal regulations, notably the Clean Air Act passed by President Nixon, to reduce toxic air pollutants such as benzene, a hydrocarbon, and ozone, a strong oxidant, effectively lowered their abundance in ambient air with steady progress.

But about 10 years ago, the picture on air pollutants in the U.S. started to change. The “fracking boom” in several different parts of the nation led to a new source of hydrocarbons to the atmosphere, affecting abundances of both toxic benzene and ozone, including in areas that were not previously affected much by such air pollution.

As a result, in recent years there has been a spike of research to determine what the extent of emissions are from fracked oil and gas wells – called “unconventional” sources in the industry. While much discussion has surrounded methane emissions, a greenhouse gas, less attention has been paid to air toxics.

Upstream emissions

Fracking is a term that can stir strong emotions among its opponents and proponents. It is actually a combination of techniques, including hydraulic fracturing, that has allowed drillers to draw hydrocarbons from rock formations which were once not profitable to tap.

Drillers shatter layers of shale rock with high-pressure water, sand and chemicals to start the flow of hydrocarbons from a well. The hydraulic fracturing process itself, aside from its large demand for water, is possibly the least environmentally impactful step along the complete operational chain of drilling for hydrocarbons. Arguably, the more relevant environmental effects are wastewater handling and disposal, as well as the release of vapors from oil and gas storage and distribution.

The production, distribution and use of hydrocarbons have always led to some emissions into the air, either directly via (intended or accidental) leaks, or during incomplete combustion of fuels. However, through regulations and technological innovation, we have reduced this source dramatically in the last 30 years, approximately by a factor of 10.

Video taken with an infrared camera shows gases leaking from storage tanks, valves and other equipment used by the oil and gas industry.

Nevertheless, wherever hydrocarbons are produced, refined or stored, there will be some emissions of pollutants. In the age of fracking, the large operations at conventional well sites have been replaced by hundreds of well pads dotting the landscape. Each requires the transportation of water, chemicals and equipment to and from these pads as well as the removal of wastewater, and none is regulated like any larger facility would be.

As a result, unconventional production has not only increased truck traffic and related emissions in shale areas, but also established a renewed source of hydrocarbons. They enter the atmosphere from leaks at valves, pipes, separators and compressors, or through exhaust vents on tanks. Together with nitrogen oxides emissions, largely from diesel engines in trucks, compressors and drilling rigs, these hydrocarbons can form significant amounts of harmful, ground-level ozone during daytime.

Measurement challenges

In 2011, a paper argued that methane emissions from unconventional sources compared to conventional oil and gas exploration were being significantly underestimated. Researchers began to investigate hydrocarbon emissions from fracking operations in earnest. And thus a significant body of literature has developed since 2013, much of which focuses on methane emissions, the main component of natural gas and a potent greenhouse gas.

Scientists have turned to satellites and other ways to measure methane emissions which can be higher in areas of oil and gas production. NASA

The EPA keeps track of methane emissions in its greenhouse gas inventory, but the numbers are based upon estimates developed in the 1980s and 1990s and are compiled through calculations and self-reporting by the industry.

In fact, both satellite and atmospheric measurements suggest that the EPA estimates could be underestimating real-world methane emissions by up to a factor of two. And if this is true for methane, co-emitted hydrocarbon gases are likely underestimated as well.

Ozone formation

As in many such cases, nuances exist.

Airborne measurements by NOAA suggest that the EPA methane estimates may be applicable to older, mature shale areas with mostly natural gas production. But that’s not the case in younger shale areas that also produce large amounts of oil alongside natural gas, such as the Bakken in North Dakota. Emissions from just the Bakken may be so large as to be responsible for roughly half of the renewed increase of atmospheric ethane in the Northern Hemisphere since the beginning of the fracking boom.

Similarly, our own studies for the Eagle Ford shale in south-central Texas suggest that hydrocarbon emissions are higher than currently estimated. This increases the potential for regional ozone formation as these hydrocarbons are oxidized in the atmosphere in the presence of nitrogen oxides. And as the ozone National Ambient Air Quality Standard was recently lowered to 70 parts per billion, with ozone in San Antonio downwind of the Eagle Ford trending close to the old threshold of 75 ppb, the impact of shale hydrocarbon emissions is not trivial.

San Antonio’s ozone woes are not unique. In some areas, decades-long progress on ozone air quality has stalled; in others, particularly the Uintah basin in Utah, a new ozone problem has emerged due to the fracking industry’s emissions.

Benzene

Aside from effects on ozone trends, the increase of hydrocarbon emissions has also led to the resurgence of an air toxic thought to be a story of the past in the U.S.: benzene. Unlike ozone, which is widely monitored, benzene is not. However, since it is a known carcinogen, it has long been on the radar of regulatory agencies.

Routinely measured above 1 part per billion in urban areas in the 1970s and ‘80s, urban ambient benzene concentrations have dropped 5-10 percent per year, similar to other air pollutants, throughout the last 20 to 30 years. Annual average benzene levels are now below 1.5 parts per billion at over 90 percent of locations monitoring benzene regularly, but few such monitoring stations are in or near shale areas.

High levels of benzene in shale areas, such as near well pads in the Barnett shale in Texas, were recorded early into the fracking boom, but few continuous air monitoring data are available to this day, with virtually no data prior to the fracking boom for comparison.

While benzene is generally monitored below levels the Texas Commission on Environmental Quality (TCEQ) would be concerned about, it is becoming clear that levels must have increased at rural shale area locations.

Our fingerprinting analysis of 2015 data from the newest air monitor in Karnes City, Texas, at the center of the Eagle Ford shale, suggests that less than 40 percent of benzene is still related to tailpipe emissions, its formerly dominant emission source. Instead, over 60 percent is now linked to various oil and gas exploration activities, including gas flaring emissions.

Studies from Colorado and Texas show that elevated levels of benzene in shale areas are clearly correlated with other hydrocarbon gases emitted from oil and gas exploration.

Health impacts

While ozone is distributed relatively uniformly in a region, primary emissions of benzene and other nonmethane hydrocarbons will be at higher concentrations in air next to sources. Therefore, whereas most monitoring stations of ozone are quite representative for a larger area, monitoring benzene far from its dominant sources in shale areas does not provide a representative picture.

The risks for people living in shale areas are elevated by their nearness to well pads. Ongoing health research has revealed that certain minor health effects such as sinusitis, migraines and fatigue, but also hospitalization rates and certain birth defects, are identifiably connected to an area’s well density or a home’s distance to oil and gas wells as a proxy of exposure, warranting more detailed research.

In conclusion, the shale boom has created a new source of large-scale, diffuse hydrocarbon emissions that adversely affect air toxics levels. While the effects are subtle, they happened in areas generally without any air pollutant monitoring, making estimates of trends difficult.

In many cases, these pollutants can be reduced by common-sense emissions reduction measures, and some companies put or plan to put good practice in place. Nevertheless, continued growth of the fracking industry as well as plans to remove regulations on methane emissions will not alleviate high hydrocarbon emissions and associated regional ozone problems.

This article was originally published on The Conversation. Read the original article.

Welcome to the Age of Humans

A new essay collection, Living in the Anthropocene, dissects our vast planetary impact.

Humanity now finds itself living in a world of its own creation, for better or worse. Our collective actions ripple out across the planet, taking a massive toll on all living things and their habitats, creating an uncertain future.

The “Anthropocene,” an era defined by lasting human impacts on the natural world, is a controversial epoch-labeling term still awaiting final approval by the International Union of Geologic Sciences. But reading the new book Living in the Anthropocene: Earth in the Age of Humans (Smithsonian Books, $34.95) leaves little doubt about how fundamentally we’re altering our world.

This comprehensive collection of essays from scientists, academics and other experts in their fields, edited by top curators at the National Museum of Natural History and National Museum of American history, covers myriad aspects of the human juggernaut.

Anthropogenic climate change — and the rising global temperatures, extreme weather events, ocean warming and acidification and sea-level rise that go along with it — is what many commentators associate with the dawning of the Anthropocene. But it’s just one part of how people have changed the Earth.

That’s evident in the opening essay, “The Advent of the Anthropocene” by Georgetown University professor J.R. McNeill, which dates the dawning of our new age to 1950 and includes a series of eight graphs to reinforce his point. Each one — “Marine Fish Capture,” atmospheric concentrations of methane and carbon dioxide, use of water and fertilizer, dam construction, energy use and urban population — shows slow, steady increases over decades or centuries turning sharply upward as prosperity returned following the horrors of World War II.

At that point, we mastered the art of creative destruction and applied it on an industrial scale, heedless of the cost or damage.

Similarly the closing essay, by renowned biologist E.O. Wilson, decries human impacts to the natural world that have increased the extinction rate 1,000 times, calling for us to drastically expand the amount of land protected from human impacts until it covers about half the planet, a level he considers relatively stable. Otherwise today’s greed will lead to a drastically altered world.

“There is a momentous moral decision confronting humanity today,” Wilson wrote. “It can be put in the form of a question: what kind of a species, what kind of an entity, are we, to treat life so cheaply? What will future generations think of those of us now alive having made such an irreversible decision of this magnitude so carelessly?”

In between those two contributions, World Bank officials Paula Caballero and Carter J. Brandon urge us to rethink our measures of economic progress; psychoanalyst Lindsay Clarkson talks about the psychology of environmental abuse; and art professor Subhankar Banerrjee discusses why the polar bear has become such an important cultural and artistic icon. More than two dozen diverse essays share their pages.

As the book discusses, new technologies and ways of working have allowed us to harvest crops, seafood, meat, oil and minerals at previously unimaginable levels for a skyrocketing global population. But the tradeoff has been equally high levels of pollution, habitat loss, resource depletion and the sixth mass extinction event in our planet’s history.

Speaking of which, journalist Elizabeth Kolbert, author of the Pulitzer Prize-winning book The Sixth Extinction, contributed the foreword to Anthropocene. “The more we understand about our impacts, and our impacts’ impacts, the more urgent the questions become,” she wrote. “What should we do with this knowledge? Should we scale back our influence? Can we?”

These are good questions, and she’s right that they urgently demand answers. Our current course is unsustainable, whether we’re looking at our economic system, the energy sector, food and water supplies, social systems, the ability of the ocean and atmosphere to continue absorbing our emissions, or any of the other realms this book explores.

The essays in this collection can be a bit dense and academic, so it’s not always the easiest read. But the expertise and research reflected in these pages is impressive, explaining in startling detail the complexities of how our world is changing, and how we’re processing that change in our science, art and politics.

How the World’s Oldest Wisdom Is Informing Modern Responses to Climate Change

Scientist Gleb Raygorodetsky explores the millennia-old relationships between indigenous communities and their local ecosystems, and how they can help us adapt to an uncertain future.

For two decades Canadian conservation biologist Gleb Raygorodetsky has worked on environmental projects with indigenous peoples from the tropics to the Arctic, in the Americas, Europe, Russia and the Pacific. The resilience of these communities — which, despite centuries of political, social and ecological upheavals, have maintained their deep, ancient relationships with their historic lands and waters — convinced him that their knowledge offers valuable guidance to the world for dealing with the greatest environmental crisis in human history: climate change.

“The more I learned from the science, the more I felt there’s this hole that is not being filled by science,” says Raygorodetsky, “the sort of intimate, spiritual relationship with the land, with the planet, that science lacks. So I gravitated toward that more holistic way of relating to the land, the animals and our place in this planet.”

arIn his new book Archipelago of Hope: Wisdom and Resilience from the Edge of Climate Change (Pegasus Books, $28.95), published this week, Raygorodetsky recounts how indigenous communities living on the front lines of climate change have begun to collaborate with scientists and nongovernmental organizations to document emerging environmental conditions, inform those studies with traditional knowledge, and combine the two toward their own physical and cultural survival. He also describes how activists and some indigenous communities are successfully fighting back when governments and corporations ignore indigenous needs and rights in their pursuit of economic ventures. “With indigenous groups there’s a natural law by which the world works. It’s not something that we invented,” he says. “We have to breathe. We have to have water, air, sunlight. Otherwise we don’t survive, as individuals or as a species.”

There has been a longstanding disdain for indigenous environmental knowledge among many scientists, perhaps because that knowledge is bound up with their spiritual beliefs and practices, which goes against the grain of modern science’s foundation in the western Enlightenment. Is that attitude changing?

I think there’s more of a realization that if we are truly trying to tackle the issues of today — climate change, industrial development, quality of life — then we need to look at the experiences and best practices of people who have actually be around the block for much longer than our modern civilization without destroying our home.

There are a number of fields that try to use different lenses of interpreting the world around us, fields like biocultural diversity and resilience thinking. Ecology is all about the interdependence of different processes and elements of the web of life. At the metaphysical level, more thinking is going into parallels between what quantum physics and cosmology tell us about how the world works, and how indigenous worldviews interpret how the world works.

A lot of it also has to do with power, and who is telling the story. Science is complaining that they’re not at the heart of decision-making. Well, they can certainly understand how indigenous peoples feel, because they haven’t been at the decision-making table for centuries.

Why are indigenous views and practices a source of hope when it comes to dealing with climate change?

We depend on biodiversity, or as we call it “ecosystem services.” Eighty percent of the world’s remaining biodiversity is on the territories of indigenous peoples, and most of them have a clear understanding of what’s happening on that land or that sea, and what needs to be done to protect it. That’s reassuring to me. If the majority of our collective wealth and natural capital would be in the hands of corporations, then I’d be worried.

The hope also comes from the fact that they’ve been dealt so many blows through social and environmental change, and despite that there’s resilience in how they see themselves on the land now, and how they think about the future. They’re not trapped in the past but rooted in that generations-long relationship with the land, and the responsibility for maintaining it for future generations.

What’s an example of that from the communities that you write about in the book?

Look at the Karen people of Hin Lad Nai, in northern Thailand. They’ve been displaced. Their traditional forests have been clear-cut. But they manage to cling to whatever is left, and continue to practice their traditional agriculture. Now that land is restored to a point where the government sees it as an example of good stewardship and wants to establish a park in that area, which is obviously not what communities would really appreciate, because they would rather see strengthening of their rights and how they look after their traditional forest.

Why wouldn’t a park be the best solution for protecting these northern Thailand forests and the Hin Lad Nai?

In that particular case, a park would be setting aside area where it “conserves biodiversity” within the perimeter of the park, and most of the traditional activities, like slash-and-burn agriculture — something that actually enriches biodiversity of the forest and sustains those communities — would be prohibited. Which would change the dynamic of how the forest grows, how animals disperse through the territory, and obviously communities are not going to be able to live on that traditional territory and would have to move out to urban centers, where their cultures would eventually dissipate.

A lot of it is about, “yes, if you want to establish a park, let us be at the decision-making table. Because it’s our territory, let us decide about what’s going to happen where, and not the other way around.”

This is not unique to developing countries. It’s happening all over Canada, and all over the States. And to take it back to climate change, one of the reasons for intensifying fires throughout North America is changes to the fire regime, because those forests and shrublands were traditionally managed with fire. Something that’s been stopped and suppressed under the imposed management regime.

What indigenous peoples want is to find a way to restore some of those practices. But it’s impossible to do if you are not really in charge of what’s happening on your traditional territory.

It struck me how every indigenous community you write about is struggling to survive and thrive, even in countries that recognize their rights. In Ecuador the government treated the Sapara respectfully. But as soon as it became more economically feasible for oil companies to get at the oil under their forest land, that fight began again.

In Ecuador, yes, they are recognized. But they have to fight off the government and corporations having their own agenda to get access to their territory. Those fights about the rights to the land and the resources are an ongoing battle. But without it, it’d just be a green light for development to go in and do whatever they want. Even in countries that recognize indigenous rights and have land claims settled with indigenous groups, there’s still surface versus subsurface rights, providing access.

Even the REDD program, “Reduced Emissions from Deforestation and Forest Degradation,” a climate-change mitigation effort that many international organizations and governments promote, amounts to projects that actually do more harm than good at the local level. Because the decision-makers, the policymakers and even the researchers are looking just at a small piece of the puzzle, compared to how indigenous peoples look at that relationship with the forest.

Right now, with climate change mitigation discussions, the focus is on getting CO2 out of the atmosphere, minimizing greenhouse gas emissions, rather than looking at the whole problem holistically. If you look at the forest just as a carbon bank, then we’re missing multiple other dimensions. That’s something that indigenous peoples have been trying to tell us on a variety of issues, but particularly on climate change, from the very beginning. A lot of mitigation projects that are being proposed or developed have severe consequences that undermine communities’ abilities to adapt.

Like what?

Like hydroelectric projects. We are supposedly switching from a carbon-based economy to a renewable economy. But in the process, we’re changing water flow regimes in watersheds such that people downstream cannot have access to their traditional hunting and fishing territories.

The same thing with reforestation. “We’re gonna fly over this deforested area and just bomb it with seed pellets, and in 10 years it’s gonna be a lush green forest. Isn’t that great?” Well it isn’t, because you’re going to end up with a really simplified forest structure: one age class, little biodiversity.

From your perspective as a scientist informed by indigenous world-views, why aren’t global and regional pacts to deal with climate change more effective?

The problem with all this stuff, from my ill-informed perch, is that the solutions are coming from the same cesspool of ideas as everything else, based on the same economic model. We think that the economy can just continue to grow.

Even when we talk about renewables, we conveniently look away from where the minerals are coming from, where all the technology to generate that renewable energy is coming from, and what the impact of that is in local communities.

Why is it happening? Again, because decision-making is disconnected from the places where those decisions are having an impact, and the people who have to live with the consequences of those decisions.

Globally more people live in cities now than in the countryside, and that trend is expected to continue for decades to come. Won’t that undercut whatever impact a more holistic approach to climate change could have?

Except that trend cannot exist without the countryside. Cities without support of everything around them would just collapse. One of the lessons from resilience thinking is that for the society to be resilient, you need to have diversity. Diversity is undermined by a design where everything is concentrated in one place.

At a more conceptual level, it doesn’t matter whether you’re in an urban or rural environment. You’re still dependent on the web of life, and being cognizant of those relationships and treating them in a respectful way. Farm-to-table, community markets, understanding where your food comes from and the relationship between food and well-being, all that stuff is also informed by some of the concepts that resonate with indigenous worldviews. The relationship between the prey and the hunter, and the gatherer and plants, it’s all in there.

There is value in looking at institutions that have regulated our interaction with the environment for millennia, without undermining that balance, and learning from it.

These are the messages that are coming from indigenous communities. Without them we wouldn’t even be talking about these implications. So that’s another source of hope.

© 2017 Emily Gertz. All rights reserved.

Parasite Lost: Did Our Taste for Seafood Just Cause an Extinction?

The disappearance of a tiny oceanic parasite, researchers warn, indicates that overfishing has caused an ecosystem to fall out of balance.

A lot can change in five decades.

In 1963 University of Aberdeen researcher Ken MacKenzie published a paper about a parasite called Stichocotyle nephropis living in the waters around Scotland.

Last month he came full circle, publishing a new paper in the journal Fisheries Research describing the tiny flatworm’s possible extinction due to overfishing of its host species.

Stichocotyle was the subject of the first paper I ever published in 1963 and it is a sobering thought that it has probably disappeared in my lifetime,” he says. He adds that he regrets never photographing the species while he was working on it in the 1960s, although he did provide this drawing from an earlier paper:

StichoctyleThe species — like most parasites — spent its life in different hosts depending on its life stages. According to MacKenzie’s new paper, Stichocotyle’s larval form lived in the bodies of Norway lobsters (Nephrops norvegicus). In its adult form — a worm reaching about 4 inches in length — it could be found in the bile ducts of the thornback ray (Raja clavata). It was also observed one time in the barndoor skate (Dipturus laevis).

Neither the ray nor the skate are commercially fished, but they are frequently killed as bycatch, enough so that they are considered near-threatened and endangered, respectively.

According to the paper, it’s the overfishing of these two species that may have caused the parasite’s extinction because there now aren’t enough of the animals to host the adult parasites.

The reports of this extinction have been a long time coming. Stichocotyle was last seen in 1986, and attempts to locate it since then have proven fruitless. “I was initially surprised when I went to look for specimens in 2001 in areas where I knew it to have been common in the 1960s and I failed to find it,” MacKenzie says. More recently he and his co-author examined more than 1,200 Norway lobsters and found no signs of infection. Similar inspections of thornback rays did not turn up any signs of the parasite.

This doesn’t mean the species is definitely extinct, but the prospects don’t look good. The host rays have been seriously overfished and its populations have become disconnected, so there is little opportunity for the parasite’s larvae — if they still exist — to be transmitted from lobsters to the rays. According MacKenzie additional populations of Stichocotyle could still survive, but only in isolated pockets with few opportunities for propagation. “We would love to be proved wrong about Stichocotyle now being extinct and we hope that parasitologists in other areas will now search for it,” he says.

So why should we care about the extinction of a tiny parasite? For one thing, it was the only known member of its taxonomic order, meaning an entire evolutionary line has possibly been lost.

Beyond that, we don’t know exactly what role Stichocotyle played in its ecosystem, but MacKenzie points out that its very existence was an important sign. “Parasites can be good indicators of the health of an ecosystem,” he says. “It is said that a healthy ecosystem has a healthy parasite fauna.” The loss of this parasite, therefore, indicates an ecosystem pushed out of balance by human activity.

Meanwhile, Stichocotyle may not be a lone example. Earlier this year a paper published in Science Advances warned that climate change could cause one-third of the world’s parasites to go extinct by the year 2070.

MacKenzie himself has seen evidence of this. “I have some indications of local parasite extinctions, but not enough evidence yet to publish anything. I have been retired from full-time work since 1995 but I continue to pursue my interests as an honorary member of staff of the University of Aberdeen. I hope that younger workers, such as my co-author Campbell Pert, will continue to monitor parasites as indicators of the health of marine ecosystems.”

In other words, keep checking those lobsters. Our oceans could need what’s inside them.

Previously in Extinction Countdown:

Snails Are Going Extinct: Here’s Why That Matters

The Lesser Prairie-Chicken: Gone With the Wind?

After decades of stresses, the lesser prairie-chicken faces a brand-new threat: Oklahoma’s wind farms.

North on U.S. 270 to Woodward, Oklahoma, wind turbines own the horizon. They hover above rusting barns, cattle-guards and the barbed-wire fences that protect private land. When standing below, you feel the massive blades swoosh like flyswatters cutting through the air. As the wind picks up, the blades spin faster and the machines emit a soft mechanical whine: the sound of power generated by nature. The town, home to 12,000 people, lies in the northwest corner of the state. The citizens who are paid to house the silo-sized white turbines on their property may not see controversy in them. But other locals see them as eyesores — or something even worse.

The energy scarecrows rise south of Woodward and west into the panhandle, spreading widely across the landscape. This dry, warm environment once gave rise to some of the most dynamic ecoregions of what is now the United States. Short, sod-forming grasses that evolved with the climate set the western short grasslands apart from other kinds of prairies. The prairie’s proximity to the tropics funneled in an incredible diversity of insects, birds and mammals. Seeing the number of endemic species would have been as breathtaking as watching turbines fan across U.S. 270.

But now, the region’s bird populations are among the fastest declining on the continent, and the turbine is the latest aggressor to swat native species out of existence. The flat, windswept plains seem to be made for renewable energy. Can the wind industry harbor as much hope for conservation as it does for renewable energy? One bird — the lesser prairie-chicken (Tympanuchus pallidicinctus) — will test that possibility.

The lesser prairie-chicken belongs to the grouse family of birds so iconic to prairie culture. This brown-barred, stocky species nests in shrubbery and grasses of the Texas panhandle, Oklahoma, New Mexico, Kansas and Colorado. It’s about the size of a 20-ounce bottle of Coca-Cola. In a flashy mating ritual called lekking, the male chickens’ necks flair with inflating red air sacs to wow female chickens during spring nesting. But this elaborate mating ritual is now harder to perform as shortgrass habitat loses ground to development, agriculture and other industries.

David Hunter, owner of Hunter’s Livestock Supply in Woodward, recollected that the prairie-chickens were often spotted on his family’s 120-year-old farm in eastern Woodward when he was young. “There were just thousands of them everywhere,” the 57-year-old told me. In northwestern Oklahoma alone, the bird’s habitat once covered 12 counties. Today their range has shrunk to isolated pockets in seven counties, all near or in the panhandle. U.S. Fish and Wildlife Service estimates that the prairie-chicken has lost as much as 84 percent of its historic prairie and grassland.

The Service first named the lesser prairie-chicken as a candidate for the Federal List of Endangered and Threatened Wildlife in 1998 and declared the bird “threatened” in 2014. When a species gains a place on the list, it is protected by law from hunting or trade, its habitat gains legal protection from being destroyed or adversely modified, and the agency develops and implements a conservation plan. The lesser-prairie chicken and state conservation departments were set to benefit from the federal aid. But just over a year later, the Permian Basin Petroleum Association and several New Mexico counties challenged the listing in District Court. Permian Basin won the suit in September 2015, effectively ending federal Endangered Species Act protection for the bird. The move became official in July 2016. Almost immediately, wildlife conservation groups began petitioning for the prairie-chicken to be listed once again. “We are undertaking a new status review to determine whether listing is again warranted,” wrote then-Service director Dan Ashe in a statement, “and we will continue to work with our state partners and others on efforts to…ensure this flagship of the prairies survives well into the future.” A few months later the Service agreed to reconsider protecting the species by the end of Summer 2017 — a decision that is already overdue.

The Uncomfortable Feeling of Being Watched

Alva Gregory is the lesser prairie-chicken habitat coordinator for the Oklahoma Department of Wildlife Conservation and grew up in the county with the highest prairie-chicken populations. He told me from his office in Woodward that many dynamics factor into the species’ decline. “Whether it’s wind [turbines], whether it’s transmission lines, oil and gas,” he said, “It’s just a huge gamut of stuff that affects it.” A four-year drought and industry expansion have recently contributed to the lower bird numbers.

Yet it’s the chicken’s innate fear of looming, vertical structures that has made turbines so disastrous in Oklahoma. Russ Horton, a research supervisor with the department of conservation, told me that prairie-chickens instinctively distance themselves from anything they might perceive as a raptor perch, high lookouts where wolfish birds scout for meals. Even tree-planting has hurt prairie-chicken populations, since the skittish birds avoid anything that casts a shadow. They’re a bird of the grasslands after all, Horton said, and there’s not a whole lot that naturally sticks up from the state’s mostly flat landscape. Raptors such as red-tailed hawks and prairie falcons prey on ground-nesting birds of all kinds. And the lesser prairie-chicken is particularly vulnerable, especially during spring nesting season. As a female lays and then incubates her clutch of about a dozen eggs, Horton said, “she’s tied to a spot about the size of a dinner plate for over a month.” The hens incubate their eggs while coming and going to feed themselves for just over three weeks, making themselves easy targets for birds of prey. Turbines give the lesser prairie-chicken an uncomfortable feeling of being watched.

Northwest Oklahoma, where lesser prairie-chickens occur, now houses more wind farms than any other part of the state. Just over a decade ago, the state’s utilities had no turbines to produce wind energy. Now, its capacity is ranked fourth in the nation. With a new transmission project set to transport wind power to Arkansas and Tennessee, more farms being constructed, and still more room for growth, the market shows no signs of slowing down.

oklahoma wind turbines
Steve Rainwater (CC BY-SA 2.0)

The state’s largest utility company, Oklahoma Gas and Electric Co., owns and operates three such wind farms in northwest Oklahoma, plus two more south of Woodward. Built between 2003 and 2007, the turbines came online before the lesser prairie-chicken was placed on the endangered species list in 2014. Still, to monitor any impacts the turbines may cause to the prairie-chicken and other wildlife, the utility formed a partnership with the state and federal wildlife agencies.

Usha Turner, the utility’s corporate environmental director, says her company has “had conversations with local and federal agencies about the lesser prairie-chicken,” even though it was only listed for a few years. Once the bird was protected under the Endangered Species Act, the utility became a voluntary member of the Western Association of Fish and Wildlife Agencies, a group dedicated to preserving and maintaining wildlife in the West. The association operates in each of the five states that prairie-chickens call home and has collected over $42 million in enrollment and impact fees from companies causing “unavoidable impacts” to habitats and ecosystems. All fees go toward off-site mitigation projects, such as contracts with private landowners to leave their property as feral grassland. As of 2015, ten 10-year contracts for more than 96,000 acres had been finalized.

Yet the utility’s relationship with the lesser prairie-chicken and its habitat remains complicated. To date, the utility has avoided paying mitigation fees to offset any impacts from its turbines since turbine installation in the bird’s habitat was completed prior to the chicken’s 2014 listing, Turner said. While the company’s wind developments have dominated the area since Oklahoma’s green-energy endeavors began in the early 2000s, the utility has secured roughly 40,000 acres of habitat for prairie-chickens and other grassland animals. Prior to that, Turner said, an agreement with the state wildlife department saw the company direct over $8 million dollars toward prairie-chicken habitat preservation.

Still, the utility isn’t blind to declining prairie-chicken numbers. Even before its listing, Turner told me, they worked with wildlife agencies to relocate turbines and transmission infrastructure away from regions containing known prairie-chicken habitat. An important move, to be sure, but one that won’t halt or likely even slow the bird’s dramatic population loss, especially with more than three dozen new wind farms in the pipe for Oklahoma alone. Six of these farms will be built near or in the panhandle; four are coming to Woodward and Ellis counties, while the same number will be built in Texas, Beaver and Woods counties. As they rise, prairie-chickens fall.

Wind Turbines One Factor Among Many

As convenient as it would be to point the finger at wind turbines as the main culprit in prairie-chicken’s slow demise, it’s not that simple; it never is in nature. “We saw declines in habitats and habitat conditions, we saw good nesting years, bad nesting years — we’ve seen all of that with and without the turbines,” said Horton. “To say that the wind turbine is the cause of everything bad that’s ever happened to the lesser prairie-chicken — no. That’s not the case.”

While the list of factors impacting the bird’s habitat is ever-increasing, Horton believes it largely comes down to habitat loss and degradation. “There used to be, at one point in time, just literally endless miles, miles, miles and miles of continuous, good habitat,” Horton told me. Many miles of that habitat are now gone, and the causes are legion: urban sprawl, road construction, energy infrastructure expansions, field conversion to non-native crops and, yes, wind turbines. All of it has hurt prairie-chicken habitat.

Despite challenges in stemming the loss of prairie-chickens, Horton knows that no one wants to see the charismatic bird suffer extinction. “If there was a clear solution, you and I wouldn’t be talking about prairie-chickens,” he told me. “It would have been implemented already. It’s not easy.” He feels there are potential solutions in conservation efforts that focus on finding common ground between competing interests on the landscape. The state and federal wildlife agencies encourage private landowners to manage their land for high quality native habitat, which provides desirable food source, among other benefits. The G. M. Sutton Avian Research Center has implemented an initiative to mark barbed-wire fences with white vinyl clips about three inches long. The clips are said to allow chickens to see the fence clearer so they don’t get stuck (locals mock this theory).

Whether it’s land management or simply good weather conditions, prairie-chicken numbers have bounced back in the past few years. The Western Association of Fish and Wildlife Agencies reported that between 2014 and 2015, aerial surveys showed a 25 percent population increase in three-quarters of the ecozones where lesser prairie-chickens are found, stretching from New Mexico to Kansas and into Colorado. In 2015 USFWS figured that lesser prairie-chicken numbers hovered around 30,000, a significant rebound after the population dipped to a low of 17,000 in 2013.

However, the problem remains that more wind farms are being constructed directly in the chicken’s limited habitat than the birds can handle. Locations need to be identified where the turbines can be situated that will minimize their impacts. Horton believes those places can be found. “Obviously we’d like to work with companies to talk about siting,” he said. And if companies cannot feasibly avoid habitats, he said, then mitigating any impacts caused by the turbines will become his department’s primary objective. “There are enough people with enough smarts, resources and knowledge working on the issue,” he says. “The bird will persist.”

Alva Gregory still worries about the prairie-chicken’s future. Habitat loss isn’t helped by the fact that the best sites for wind turbines tend to be where prairie-chickens congregate. If private companies “develop wind like they would like to, in the areas they want to, I’m afraid that we’ll lose a lot of birds,” he said. And if that land disappears, Gregory said, “If they cover the northwest panhandle up, I don’t know where the birds will go.”

Originally published by New Territory magazine. © 2017 Bryce McElhaney. All rights reserved.

Revelator Reads: 6 Thrilling New Environmental Books for November

This month brings us new books about wildlife trafficking, pesticides and the history of the oceans.

The nights are getting shorter, the days are getting cooler, and the bookstores are stocking up on great new titles. Here are six new environmentally themed books coming our way this November, addressing such issues as pesticides, poaching and climate change. Check ‘em out:

Precautionary TaleA Precautionary Tale: How One Small Town Banned Pesticides, Preserved Its Food Heritage, and Inspired a Movement by Philip Ackerman-Leist

Let’s learn from history so we can avoid repeating it. This incredible book tells the true story of Mals, Italy, a pristine community in the Alps that found itself threatened by “Big Apple” —massive agriculture producers that poisoned the area with pesticides. The story of how this tiny town stood up and protected itself stands as a testament that real change is possible. (Chelsea Green Publishing, Nov. 9, $19.95)

bonfire krysten ritterBonfire by Krysten Ritter

Ritter, probably best known for her role as superhero-turned-PI Jessica Jones, brings us her first novel starring a similarly hard-hitting female protagonist: an environmental lawyer returning to her small, rural home town and getting into a conflict with the corrupt, polluting company. Sign me up for a binge-read. (Crown, Nov. 7, $26)

oceans historyThe Oceans: A Deep History by Eelco J. Rohling

The history of Earth is wet — and fascinating. Rohling, a professor of ocean and climate change, takes us on a journey dating back 4.4 billion years of history (well, mostly prehistory) while also providing readers with critical information about the oceans’ roles in the planet’s climate systems. If you want to understand the planet and climate change, this book is for you. (Princeton University Press, Nov. 21, $29.95)

Many: The Diversity of Life on Earth by Nicola Davies and Emily Sutton

Here’s one for the next generation. Davies and Sutton follow up their award-winning book Tiny Creatures with a look at the wildlife and plants that fill the planet — and how humans are screwing up the system and pushing everything into extinction. The book asks an important question: What sort of world would it be if it went from having many types of living things to having just one? Yeah, it sounds bleak, but it’s also quite marvelous. (Candlewick, Nov. 7, $15.99)

extinction marketThe Extinction Market: Wildlife Trafficking and How to Counter It by Vanda Felbab-Brown

Tigers and elephants and rhinos, oh why? Felbab-Brown, a senior fellow at the Brookings Institute, has the answers. She traveled to three continents to understand the “causes, means and consequences of poaching and wildlife trafficking” — and maybe how to stop the process and save some of these species from disappearing. (Oxford University Press, Nov. 15, $24.95)

The New Carbon Architecture: Building to Cool the Climate by Bruce King

Can we build better buildings that actually help to stave off climate change? Yes, according to King, who examines new construction techniques that could change the way we build and how buildings’ energy and water use impact in the planet. A must-read for architects, engineers, policy-makers and anyone interested in the future of construction technologies. (New Society Publishers, Nov. 27, $29.99)

That’s it for our list this month, but what about yours? Let us know what you’re reading in the comments.

Previously in The Revelator:

Revelator Reads: Great New Environmental Books for Fall

Revelator Reads: 8 New Environmental Books for September

Revelator Reads: 7 New Environmental Books for August

Revelator Reads: 7 New Environmental Books for July

Cliven Bundy’s Armed Insurrection, Rooted in Religious Extremism, Goes on Trial

Bunkerville prosecution prepares to address the Bundy family’s dangerous history of extremism on public lands. Oregon victims hope that this time guilty verdicts will prevail.

BURNS, Ore.— In two heavily armed, militia-backed confrontations with the federal government in 2014 and 2016, Nevada scofflaw rancher Cliven Bundy and his family successfully created a self-serving narrative of a God-fearing, hard-working, true-blooded American family fearlessly battling an overreaching, oppressive and unconstitutional federal bureaucracy.

Bundy, 71, became a national figure in April 2014 when he forced federal land managers to release cattle seized for trespassing on public lands in southeast Nevada. Nineteen months later two of Bundy’s sons, Ammon and Ryan, led an armed group that seized Malheur National Wildlife Refuge, about 32 miles south of this remote ranching community in southeast Oregon. In both instances, the elder Bundy leveraged growing public dissatisfaction with the federal government to promote his assertion that federal tyranny is crushing individual rights.

Their David vs. Goliath storyline, blown out across three years of high-profile media coverage, attracted support from the far-right militia groups proliferating and itching for a fight during the latter years of the Obama administration, as well as from conservative politicians financed by extractive industries seeking to turn over ownership of hundreds of millions of acres of federal public land to the states and private entities.

The rhetoric of an overreaching federal government has given legal cover to the Bundy family and its supporters. The success of this propaganda campaign was underscored by the unexpected October 2016 acquittal of Ammon and Ryan Bundy and five others on federal conspiracy and weapons charges in connection with the 41-day militia takeover of the Oregon wildlife refuge.

The “heroic” framing embodied by that legal win will be put to a major test again beginning this week in a Las Vegas federal court. Cliven Bundy and his two sons, along with militia leader Ryan Payne, are charged with conspiring to thwart the 2014 government roundup of cattle near the town of Bunkerville, Nev. after Bundy refused to pay more than $1 million in delinquent grazing fees dating back 20 years. The four men each face 22 felony charges, including counts of conspiracy against and assault on federal officers.

In that incident Cliven Bundy, backed by militia members, forced National Park Service and U.S. Bureau of Land Management employees to release the cattle under the threat of violence. Hailed by Bundy supporters as the Battle of Bunkerville, the incident is considered a major victory in the far-right populist effort to wrest control of public lands from the federal government.

The flashpoint has had far-ranging effects.

“They basically concluded that you can point guns at the federal government and the government will back down with no consequences,” says University of Oregon geography professor Peter Walker, who studies the social and political environmental aspects of the American West.

In Burns, a ranching town of 5,000 that serves as the Harney County seat, there is a far different and much darker and terrifying narrative of the Bundy family and their militia allies that is emerging in the aftermath of the armed occupation of the community.

Ammon Bundy aligned with a coalition of militia groups and tried to use heavily armed men to intimidate community leaders into supporting their call to reject federal authority over the county, says recently retired Harney County judge Steve Grasty.

But community leaders and local ranchers refused to join their cause. Harney County Sheriff David Ward deftly avoided a violent confrontation that the Bundys were trying to provoke during three months of heavy militia presence in Burns.

“Ammon Bundy genuinely thought he was going to be able to lead a national revolution,” Walker says during an interview in his office in Eugene, Ore. “He didn’t do his homework. He came to the wrong place.”

That’s because Harney County ranchers and federal land-use managers have a long history of collaborating on land-use and water issues at the Malheur National Wildlife Refuge and Malheur National Forest, spearheaded by the High Desert Partnership, a nonprofit that successfully bridges the often formidable gap between environmentalists, ranchers and the federal land managers. Harney County ranchers refused to join Ammon and Ryan Bundy in their call to ranchers across the West to tear up their federal grazing permits.

The reality of the Bundy/militia confrontation in Burns reveals a narrative that’s very different from their finely honed, folksy image of salt-of-the-earth ranchers protecting forgotten men and women from rampant federal abuses.

It wasn’t the federal government that was overreaching and abridging the rights of citizens. Rather, it was Bundy fanaticism that put innocent lives at risk, Ward says.

“They are extremists,” says Ward, who was hailed by Grasty for exercising patience and restraint in the extremely volatile crises that overwhelmed this quiet community. “Any disagreement with them makes you the enemy.”

Throughout the Malheur occupation, militias continued to menace Burns, leaving many terrified that a bloodbath was an errant firecracker away.

“This was day after day after day after day,” Grasty says during a lengthy interview in his home about 10 miles north of Burns where his anger steadily built the longer he talked about what happened. “It was hurtful to your mind. How do you set that aside? That to me is what was hurtful.”

Asked if his community was subjected to an ongoing act of terrorism by the Bundys and their militia allies, Grasty pauses for a moment and looks off into the distance. “Yep. If they can fragment (you),” he says, before pausing again. “It’s a horrible weapon.”

How did all this happen?

Experts and witnesses tell The Revelator that the roots of the Bundy family’s uncompromising and authoritarian approach over the use of America’s public lands can be traced to their belief in the historic Mormon entitlement to the promised land of Zion and their fringe interpretation of the U.S. Constitution first posed by a far-right Mormon writer.

“It all comes back to religion,” says Walker, who is writing a book on the Bundy-led occupation of Malheur and Burns.

Zion, Militias and Public Lands

Academic research on Mormon history, theology and the Mormon migration to the Great Basin to create what the early western settlers called the promised land of Zion in the mid-19th century provides a framework for understanding the Bundy family’s refusal to accept federal authority over public lands.

The militia-supported Bundy aggressions in Bunkerville, Burns and Malheur —while often not Mormon themselves — can be traced to early Mormon religious and political beliefs that have contributed to modern-day right-wing extremism, says Betsy Gaines Quammen, a professor of world religions and culture at the Yellowstone Theological Institute, whose 2017 doctoral dissertation at Montana State University was entitled “American Zion: Mormon Perspectives on Landscape, from Zion National Park to the Bundy Family War.”

“I can tell you with great confidence that Zion is part of this public-land issue and that the militia has been part of the Mormon world view since the very beginning,” Quammen says during an interview in Bozeman, Mont.

The roots date back to long before the Civil War. After the 1844 murder of Mormon founder Joseph Smith by a mob in Carthage, Ill., his successor Brigham Young led the faithful to the Salt Lake Valley in 1847. There they would establish Zion in the Great Basin that encompassed most of present-day Utah and Nevada.

In Mormon doctrine Zion refers to the place where people “pure of heart” will live together. Also known as the New Jerusalem, Zion is supposed to be built on the American continent, with Independence, Mo. identified as the specific location. But conflict in Missouri and Illinois, along with divine inspiration, led Brigham Young to move the Mormons to the Salt Lake Valley.

Young declared the Salt Lake Valley area “a first-rate place to raise Saints.” Furthermore, he insisted that if they lived worthily, the Lord would never allow them to be driven from the promised land, according to a July 1988 article in the Ensign, a church publication. Prior to their exodus West, Mormons had already created the largest militia in the United States: the Nauvoo Legion. Only the U.S. Army had more forces.

Initially Zion was centered in the Salt Lake Valley, but it soon grew to encompass far more land. The Mormon land claims expanded under Brigham Young’s theocracy when he created a provisional state in 1849 called Deseret, stretching from Oregon to Arizona. This proposed mega-state was never accepted by the federal government, which created the territory of Utah in 1850 encompassing only part of the proposed Deseret. Utah was granted statehood with its present boundaries in 1896.

Thomas Murphy, chairman of the anthropology department at Edmonds Community College in Lynnwod, Wash., says Young declared Mormons had a divine right to claim the land. The right still resonates. “You see that claim of divine right echoed with the Bundys,” he says during an interview in his office.

Murphy, who was once threatened with excommunication from the Mormon Church for his research on the genetics of American Indians that debunked the Mormon belief that Indians are descendants of ancient Israelites, says the Bundy family appears to believe they are fulfilling God’s commands.

“You see a righteous fury in the Bundy family, a sense that God is on their side,” he says.

The Mormon historic claim of Zion bestowed upon the faithful by God now includes hundreds of millions of acres of public land controlled by the federal government, says Quammen. Bunkerville, Burns and Malheur fall within either the boundaries of the historic Mormon provisional state of Deseret or the spiritual lands of Zion.

The tension between religious claims to a promised land and the legal and Constitutional federal right of ownership of the same land can create conflict, especially when the Mormon affiliation with militias is added to the mix, Quammen says.

“The public lands are still considered part of Zion,” she says. “And the Mormon militia has been a long-running, multigenerational idea in Mormon history.” (The Mormon Church no longer has a militia.)

The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints (the official name of the Mormon church) has a taken a two-pronged approach with the Bundys. On one hand it publicly repudiated the Malheur refuge takeover after the Bundys and others repeatedly referred to Mormon scripture and inspiration from God as part of their justification for seizing the federal property.

Ammon Bundy explained his God-inspired reasoning for coming to Harney County and requested other like-minded individuals to come to Harney County to challenge the federal government in a Jan. 1, 2016 video, the day before he led the takeover of the refuge.

In the wake of the Malheur seizure, the church issued the following statement on Jan. 6, 2016:

“While the disagreement occurring in Oregon about the use of federal lands is not a Church matter, Church leaders strongly condemn the armed seizure of the facility and are deeply troubled by the reports that those who have seized the facility suggest that they are doing so based on scriptural principles. This armed occupation can in no way be justified on a scriptural basis. We are privileged to live in a nation where conflicts with government or private groups can — and should — be settled using peaceful means, according to the laws of the land.”

Mormon leaders, however, have not taken any public steps to excommunicate the Bundys from the church.

Cliven Bundy told the Salt Lake Tribune that he “has never had a problem with the bishop,” referring to his local religious leader. Excommunications are usually matters handled at the local level.

Murphy, who has firsthand experience in the Mormon excommunication process, says Mormon leaders do not want to cause a split in the church by excommunicating the Bundy family.

“They fear they would lose a lot of local membership,” he says. “A lot of Mormons would be relieved because this is embarrassing. But a lot of Mormons might stand with the Bundys.”

Mormon Determination to Protect Zion

Quammen says the arduous trek across the country by Mormon pioneers fleeing Nauvoo, Ill., after Smith’s murder and the failure of the federal government to protect Mormons from earlier violent persecution in Ohio, Missouri and Illinois left two long-lasting beliefs when they arrived in the Great Basin.

“This was their Zion and they were going to do anything they could to protect it,” she says. “And, I would add, in addition to that they also landed there with a lot of hatred against the government.”

Cliven Bundy claims his ancestors started grazing cattle in the late 19th century on desert in southeast Nevada near the Virgin River, just downstream from St. George, Utah, which was an early Mormon settlement in a region called Dixie. Quammen had an opportunity to visit the family’s ranch where she interviewed Cliven, Ammon and Ryan. A devout Mormon, Cliven Bundy has 14 children.

Some Mormons, like the Bundys, continue to believe the lands within Zion are sacred and rightfully controlled by the descendants of the first Mormon pioneer families that put the land to “beneficial use” through grazing, Quammen says.

“That was one of the first things that Cliven said to me,” Quammen says. “The first Mormons were here and they had their horse and the horse takes a bite of grass and the moment they take a bite of grass, that’s the first beneficial use.”

In other words, once the use of a natural resource provides sustenance to a horse or livestock has occurred, permanent rights to the renewable resource are created. Cliven Bundy himself made this claim, according to a January 2016 opinion column Quammen wrote for The New York Times.

In the column she recounted that Cliven Bundy told her:

“So now we have created them (rights) and we use them, make beneficial use of them, and then we protect them. And that’s sort of a natural law, and that’s what the rancher has done. That’s how he has his rights. And that’s what the range war, the Bundy war, is all about right now, it’s really protecting those three things: our life, liberty and our property.”

Bundy’s claim that his rights to the land are established by creating “beneficial use” of the property through an animal grazing is unsupported by federal law or Supreme Court rulings. He appears to be conflating Western water rights that are based, in part, on the seniority of the first person to put water to “beneficial use” establishing rights to the water.

Cliven Bundy’s claim to property also ignores that fact that nearly all the land he was grazing his cattle on has been owned by the United States since it was ceded from Mexico in 1848 as part of the Treaty of Guadalupe Hidalgo that ended the Mexican-American War. The land originally belonged to the Paiute tribes. Cliven Bundy only has title to 160 acres. Despite Bundy’s claim that his family had been grazing cattle in the area since the late 19th century, there’s no official record showing his family had legal title to land prior to 1948.

Clark County Recorder documents posted by KLAS-TV show the 160-acre Bunkerville ranch Bundy calls home was purchased by his parents, David and Bodel Bundy, from Raoul and Ruth Leavitt on Jan. 5, 1948. The purchase included the transfer to the Bundys of certain water rights, including water from the nearby Virgin River. Cliven Bundy was born in 1946.

Beyond that, the elder Bundy also accepted federal jurisdiction over the public grazing lands for decades and paid grazing fees on his Bunkerville federal allotment from 1973 through 1993. He ceased paying the fees after the Bureau of Land Management reduced the size of his allotment and the number of cattle that could be legally grazed in order to protect the endangered Mojave desert tortoise.

The Bureau canceled his grazing permit in 1994, but Bundy continued to trespass his cattle on more than 1,200 square miles of Bureau and National Park Service land at the Lake Meade National Recreation Area. The ongoing encroachment led to the roundup of Bundy’s cattle that culminated with the armed standoff between Bundy, his militia supporters and federal law enforcement.

The Skousen Connection

In addition to the Mormon doctrine of divine right to the land, the Bundys have also embraced the teachings of a far-right, anti-communist Mormon conspiracy theorist named W. Cleon Skousen, who died in 2006.

The Bundys and their militia supporters frequently carried copies of Skousen’s annotated, pocket-sized, old-English version of the U.S. Constitution published by a conservative organization called the National Center for Constitutional Studies during the Bunkerville, Malheur and Burns occupations, turning to it to justify their actions. Cliven Bundy even offers constitutional lessons via YouTube that are heavily tainted by Skousen.

Skousen’s pocket Constitution includes a four-page preface of fragmented quotes from the Founding Fathers, several of which reference the importance of religion and morality and the gifts of Heaven. Constitutional scholars say some of the quotations are either deliberate alterations or taken out of context, The Los Angeles Times reported in a January 2016 story.

According to his obituary, Skousen worked for the FBI for 16 years under J. Edgar Hoover, taught a popular class at Brigham Young University, and published 46 books, including The Naked Communist, which has sold more than a million copies since 1958.

Ironically Skousen attracted considerable attention from the FBI for his extreme views and logged a 2,000-page file on his activities, including accusing President Dwight D. Eisenhower of being a Soviet agent. He also campaigned to eliminate the federal income tax, wanted to convert Social Security system to private retirement accounts, and opposed all federal regulatory agencies, including the Occupational Safety and Health Administration and the Environmental Protection Agency.

He also wanted to repeal the minimum wage, eliminate unions, nullify anti-discrimination laws, remove barriers separating church and state and sell off the public lands and national parks.

Skousen’s controversial political theories serve as an intellectual bridge among the Bundys’ Old West Mormonism, the far-right wing militias and the American lands movement’s efforts to transfer federal lands to local governments and private interests.

The connection goes back decades. The National Center for Constitutional Studies, which has published 15 million copies of the Skousen-annotated Constitution, was founded by Skousen and later taken over by Utah businessman Bert Smith, who played a leading role in the first Sagebrush Rebellion in the 1970s, according to a 2016 profile in E&E News.

Smith also donated $35,000 to help found the American Lands Council, an organization dedicated to facilitating the transfer of federal lands to the states, in 2012. American Lands Council is also funded by the Koch Brothers and taxpayer money allocated by county commissions, High Country News reported in a May 2015 expose.

“Smith’s influence in inciting these western anti-public lands and rancher revolts, particularly in Utah, cannot be overstated,” wrote Chris Zinda, a New Harmony, Utah, activist who monitors state and federal land issues for the St. George, Utah-based Independent.

Another major Bundy influence is former Mormon Church President Ezra Taft Benson, who also served in President Eisenhower’s cabinet as secretary of Agriculture. As Mathew Bowman, the author of The Mormon People: The Making of an American Faith, wrote in a January 2016 column in Time Magazine, “Benson adopted an important Mormon concept of ‘free agency,’ which maintains all human beings are free to choose from right and wrong, and that the purpose of our lives on earth is to cultivate our moral insight and ability to choose good.”

Benson, Bowman wrote, was one of the first to write that large government restricts free agency. “He and the Bundys after him believe that government is not merely inefficient, but an inherent moral hazard,” he wrote.

The Bundys’ constitutional interpretations take a simplistic, literal reading of the Constitution and often ignoring a body of Supreme Court decisions that run contrary to their arguments, particularly in regard to whether the federal government has a right to own vast tracts of land.

“These folks are very constitutional based, but only on the part of the Constitution that they like,” says Sheriff Ward, who had “eight to 10” hours of often tense conversations with Ammon Bundy on the Constitution and the role of federal government and religion.

Ward says when he attempted to explain his views on the Constitution and religion, Ammon Bundy would get angry. Bundy, Ward says, continued to pressure him to “change my stance” and made “quite a few threats” that were generally “vague.” This was just a prelude to a deluge of emailed death threats from anonymous email accounts. Some threatened Ward with hanging if he didn’t knuckle under, he says. “There were blatant death threats that I forwarded to the FBI,” he says.

Walker, the University of Oregon professor, is convinced Ammon Bundy’s constitutional philosophy is traced to Skousen. “When you listen to Ammon Bundy talk about the Constitution, it’s almost word-for-word from stuff Skousen had written,” he says.

And while Benson was wary of big government, he also served in the federal government at the highest level as a cabinet secretary. Cliven Bundy has taken Benson’s cautious view of big government much further.

“(Cliven) Bundy basically says he does not believe in the federal government. It just doesn’t exist,” Quammen says. “He believes in the county. He believes in the sheriff. He believes in ‘we the people.’ But he doesn’t believe in the federal government.”

A History of Violence

Cliven Bundy repeatedly told land managers with the Bureau of Land Management that any effort to remove his cattle from public lands would be met with force. His threat continued a history of violent conflict between Mormons and non-Mormons and at times between Mormons and the federal government.

The United States nearly went to war with the Mormons in 1858 in the so-called “Utah War.” Smithsonian Magazine writer David Roberts provides a comprehensive overview of the events leading up to the conflict in a June 2008 feature story on the 150th anniversary of the little known conflict.

“The Utah War culminated a decade of rising hostility between Mormons and the federal government over issues ranging from governance and land ownership to plural marriage and Indian affairs, during which both Mormons and non-Mormons endured violence and privation,” Roberts wrote.

Armed conflict was averted when Mormon Church President and Utah Territorial Governor Young agreed to allow the federal government to appoint a non-Mormon as governor.

The year before the Utah War, the most notorious clash between a Mormon militia and non-Mormons occurred in southern Utah when a militia brutally murdered 120 Arkansas men, women and children at the Mountain Meadows Massacre. They were executed after being convinced to surrender their guns.

The church tried to cover up its association with the murders for nearly 150 years, blaming it instead on an American Indian tribe.

In 2007 the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints officially blamed local church leaders in Cedar City, Utah, for the September 1857 massacre and stated that then-church President Young sent a message not to harm the emigrants, but it arrived too late. Some historians theorize Young ordered the attack, but they acknowledge there is no proof.

Richard Turley, assistant historian of the church and co-author of Massacre at Mountain Meadows, told National Public Radio in a 2008 interview that the slaughter of the unarmed men, women and children, some of whom were begging for their lives when they were killed, shows how quickly atrocities can unfold.

“These people who carried out the massacre were in many ways ordinary… individuals who got caught up in emotion, caught up in the circumstances of their times and began to make decisions that led to committing an atrocity,” Turley said. “And what was disturbing about that was the realization that the difference between ordinary people like us and these people who committed atrocity was really a short distance.”

At the time of the massacre, church leaders feared the federal government planned to take control of the Mormon-controlled territory and stamp out the widespread Mormon practice of polygamy. Mormon leaders warned that the incoming settlers traveling on the Arkansas wagon train could be working with the army in the days leading up to the massacre.

Overt violent conflict between the Mormon Church and federal authorities has largely been supplanted by a struggle over control of public lands. The federal government owns 65 percent of the land in Utah. The Utah state legislature remains dominated by Mormons (88 percent) and is supporting the transfer of federal land to state control.

The Utah Legislature passed the Transfer of Public Lands Act and Related Study in 2012, seeking to force the federal government to turn over much of its public lands to the state. At the federal level, Senator Orrin Hatch and Congressman Rob Bishop, both Mormons, have sponsored federal legislation to turn over public lands to the state.

Murphy, the Edmonds Community College professor, says federal land ownership in Utah is a source of significant conflict because it’s a tangible reminder of the federal government’s role in ending Brigham Young’s theocracy and eventually forcing the church to renounce polygamy in 1890.

“It is the federal government through its control of public lands that is still preventing Mormons from realizing this vision,” he says.

More than 160 years after the Mountain Meadows Massacre, and after decades of resentment toward federal control of public lands, Cliven Bundy first clashed with the federal government at Bunkerville.

Guided by religious inspiration and a Skousen-influenced constitutional claim to the land, Cliven Bundy whipped up fear of an oppressive federal government to rally a militia to his Nevada ranch. Militia members pointed high-powered rifles at federal employees attempting to execute a court order authorizing the removal of Bundy’s cattle from federal land. The margin for a mistake that could have triggered bloodshed was razor thin.

Shortly after the federal government released the cattle and withdrew from the area, Ammon Bundy acknowledged that the militia was used to instill fear in the federal employees.

“We did have militia and weapons, and that was important because (the federal officers) didn’t know whether or not we were going to fire on them,” Ammon Bundy says in a video that was presented as evidence by federal prosecutors in a case against Bunkerville defendant Scott Drexler, who pleaded guilty to a misdemeanor charge last month.

All Eyes Turn to Las Vegas

While many in Burns are trying to put the Bundy/militia occupation behind them, community leaders, including former county judge Steve Grasty and Sheriff Dave Ward, are hoping that justice is finally served in Las Vegas. And by justice, they mean that the Bundys and their supporters should be held accountable for their actions during the Bunkerville standoff.

Ward says he “was very disappointed” after Ammon and Ryan Bundy and five others were acquitted in federal court for their role in the Malheur National Wildlife Refuge. He worries that if they’re acquitted again in Las Vegas it would send a dangerous signal to them and their supporters, including the militias, that “there is even less accountability than they thought there was at the beginning.”

Grasty is still bitter over the trauma inflicted on his community by the Bundys and their supporters. “I have a hard spot in my heart for Ammon Bundy and his friends,” he says.

The importance of the Las Vegas trial cannot be understated, he says.

“If they are found guilty, the system has run its course, and it does put others on notice that this model is not a good model to follow,” Grasty says. “There has to be a better model to follow. Armed insurrection isn’t the way to do it.”

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