Public lands are one of our country鈥檚 great equalizers. It doesn鈥檛 matter how much money you have — a billionaire and a bus driver both get the same access to our parks, deserts, rivers and forests. Each one of us owns these lands together. They are literally America鈥檚 common ground.
Like so many Americans, I鈥檝e built a life around public lands — exploring them, defending them, and working to ensure they remain open to all. From my early days in Montana to leading the Bureau of Land Management and now as president of The Wilderness Society, I鈥檝e seen what these places mean to people. And I鈥檝e never seen a threat to them as serious and shocking as the one we face right now.
For weeks, there have been of this priceless shared heritage to pay for tax cuts for the ultra-wealthy. Not too long ago, that would have been an unthinkable idea. Surely, Congress or the administration wouldn鈥檛 sacrifice prime wildlife habitat, access to favorite places, lands along a quiet stream or a wildlife refuge, right? Surely, they wouldn鈥檛 auction this extraordinary legacy of clean air, clean water and open spaces as a one-time favor to donors and corporations?
But earlier this month, the Senate proved just how serious they were about it. Democrats offered an amendment that would block selling off our public lands in the budget bill. The , with just two Republicans voting to oppose a sell-off. Those two Montana senators who supported the amendment completely understood how their constituents feel about public lands.
But it抖阴ap not only Montanans who care. Public lands are figurative common ground, uniting people across the country. Poll after poll shows that people of all stripes support public lands and want them conserved to protect wildlife habitat and outdoor recreation areas for future generations.
While it is a nice proof-point to have, we don鈥檛 need polling data to tell us what people鈥檚 photo libraries, social media feeds, old family albums and bucket lists show us. Americans care deeply about public lands, intuitively understanding they are a national treasure.
These lands hold the long arc of the story of humankind, etched in petroglyphs on desert walls and handed down in the creation stories of Indigenous peoples that have stewarded them since time immemorial. Public lands are our shorthand for freedom and exhilaration. In car ads, they promise an escape from the ordinary. In books about finding ourselves, they are a proving ground for the soul. In our anthems, they bind us as one nation: 鈥淭his land is your land; this land is my land.鈥�
My nephew caught his first trout on a fly rod while standing on public land along a clear, cold mountain stream. Over 25 years later, he still remembers everything about that moment. I expect he鈥檒l bring his kids there one day. His is a common story.
Last summer, I happened upon a young couple on a large rock outcrop overlooking a wilderness in Oregon. They had driven all the way from the Midwest to take in the view. I offered to snap a photo for them and then found myself documenting a remarkable moment as he dropped to one knee, pulled out a ring, and wove the magnificent scenery into the intimacy of his proposal. People make lifetime memories on our public lands.
From that rim on Steens Mountain to that bank along Rock Creek, to Yellowstone and Yosemite, to the desert Southwest and the wilds of Alaska, to national forests in every state — these lands are our heritage, our common ground, and a key part of our American identity and story.
Public lands must never be for sale — at any price.
It抖阴ap not too late. Congress still has mountains of details to sort through to finalize the president抖阴ap budget and tax cut agenda. It抖阴ap up to them to stop the selloff of our national heritage, and it抖阴ap up to all of us to remind them that they must. When public lands are sold off for profit, we lose the places that define our country and unite us as Americans.
Tracy Stone-Manning is a contributor to Writers on the Range, writersontherange.org, an independent nonprofit dedicated to spurring lively conversation about the West. She is president of The Wilderness Society and a former director of the BLM. She lives in Montana and Washington, D.C.
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