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The Bureau of Land Management is seeking nominations for which parts of ANWR's Coastal Plane should be offered up to fossil fuel companies for potential drilling.
The Trump administration on Monday took the first step toward holding controversial oil and gas lease sales in the Coastal Plane of the Arctic National Wildlife Refuge.
The Bureau of Land Management announced on Monday that it was seeking nominations for which parts of ANWR's Coastal Plane should be offered up to fossil fuel companies for potential drilling, fulfilling a mandate passed by the US Senate in late 2025. However, the move goes against the wishes of Indigenous people who consider the plane sacred as well as conservationists, scientists, and many members of the American public who value US public lands for their beauty and wildlife.
“People have worked together for decades to defend the Arctic Refuge, because this unique landscape is too special to be sacrificed to the oil industry for profit," Earthjustice managing attorney Erik Grafe said in a statement. "Tripling down on oil development in the Arctic takes us in exactly the wrong direction in our existential fight to curb climate change and protect these critically important public lands."
The sales would continue US President Donald Trump's push to increase oil and gas production, including in Alaska, ramping up an agenda that has dominated both of his terms. The Senate's action in 2025 followed an October decision by the Department of the Interior (DOI) to open the Coastal Plane to drilling, overriding Biden-era protections. The DOI, led by pro-fossil fuel Doug Burgum, also reversed Biden administration protections for Alaska's Western Arctic.
"The Arctic Refuge is no place for drilling."
"The Trump administration spent 2025 waging an all-out assault on public lands in Alaska’s Arctic, while ignoring the voices of Indigenous communities that hold these lands sacred and jeopardizing the survival of Arctic wildlife," Grafe said. "We’ve already taken steps to challenge Interior’s overall leasing plan for the Arctic Refuge in court, and we’re prepared to continue the fight as this lease sale process grinds on.”
The Trump administration's plan for the Arctic faces wide opposition—public comments on nominations for portions of the Western Arctic to lease featured tens of thousands of calls for protection rather than exploitation.
However, opponents of the plan also noted it may not be as popular with the industry as Trump hopes. Lease sales in ANWR in 2021 and 2024 received little interest from oil and gas companies, with the latter not receiving a single bid.
“The Trump administration is hung up on oil and gas leasing in the Arctic Refuge because they cannot admit that the original Trump leasing plan—established following the 2017 Tax Act—was a complete and utter failure,” said Kristen Moreland, executive director of the Gwich’in Steering Committee, in a statement.
The Alaska Wilderness League appealed to the industry itself, noting that the area has some of the highest production costs on the continent while being an increasingly difficult place to work due to extreme weather and other changes caused by the climate crisis, an uncertain regulatory environment, competition from cheaper forms of renewable energy, and the fact that many Americans do not support drilling in the Arctic.
“Serious companies don’t gamble their future on the most remote, expensive, and controversial oil on Earth from one of the most unparalleled ecosystems left on this planet,” said league executive director Kristen Miller. “If companies are still looking to drill the Arctic Refuge in 2026, it’s a sign that they can’t read the writing on the wall: Smart money has already walked away.”
But whatever the decision of the oil and gas industry, Indigenous communities and their allies are determined to fight for the land that is home to polar bears, millions of birds, and the Porcupine caribou herd.
“We condemn these actions, and encourage officials in the Trump administration—and our representatives in the Alaska delegation—to acknowledge and accept what we as Gwich’in know, and what the majority of the American people agree on: The Arctic Refuge is no place for drilling," Moreland continued. "It deserves to be protected and preserved for the wildlife that depend on it, and for all our futures.”
Two new FCC proposals would render an already weak NEPA process largely meaningless, strip local and state governments of nearly all of their congressionally granted authority, and leave the agency even less accountable to the public.
The Federal Communications Commission is poised to release two orders that would steamroll states and communities on behalf of the wireless industry. Long in bed with that industry, it will soon eliminate virtually any say locals have in the rollout of new infrastructure. Reflecting the industry’s wish list, these rules would override already-limited state and local control over how and where cell tower infrastructure is built, further erode environmental review safeguards, and trample on states’ rights.
Federal law already restricts states and communities from taking actions that “prohibit or effectively prohibit” the provision of wireless service. Yet Congress also recognized that local governments serve an essential role in responsible siting of telecommunications deployment through land-use planning, zoning, engineering oversight, public safety, and preservation of neighborhood character.
Historically, states and localities have retained the authority to charge industry reasonable fees and to regulate for public welfare—setting standards for structural safety, wildfire risk, flood exposure, resiliency, decommissioning, environmental protection, and aesthetics. Before siting, city councils, boards of supervisors, and other officials evaluate the impacts of large, industrial towers on homes and critical community assets, like parks, slope stability, or historic buildings.
For years, however, the Federal Communications Commission (FCC) has steadily chipped away at these core local functions through litigation and rulemakings that sharply curtail community authority to impose requirements on carriers. In November, the FCC proposed an even more aggressive series of changes that would all but obliterate what remains of local authority over wireless siting. The FCC claims these measures are necessary to “free towers and other wireless infrastructure from unlawful regulatory burdens imposed at the state and local level.”
As wireless technologies proliferate—with presumably even less scrutiny, oversight, and public input—the environmental and community impacts will only multiply.
One proposal would mandate automatic approval of tower and small-cell applications if localities miss federal deadlines. California officials warn these “unrealistic timelines” risk incomplete safety review and “threaten to silence the very people who must live with the consequences.”
The FCC would broadly preempt local aesthetic standards and cap fees that fund environmental review, rights-of-way management, and safety inspections, shifting industry costs on to taxpayers. It would treat setbacks aimed at limiting noise and visual impacts as impermissible RF radiation regulation, bar local requirements for industry-funded RF testing to verify compliance, prohibit updated safety and design standards at permit renewal, and override requirements that carriers consider less intrusive alternatives or demonstrate actual service need.
Taken together, these measures would eviscerate any local role in siting decisions that consider neighborhoods, landscapes, safety, and environmental integrity in communities across the nation, and replace it with the will of the wireless industry.
At the same time, the FCC is finalizing another rule that would eliminate community input in the agency’s already weak environmental review process. Under the National Environmental Policy Act (NEPA), federal agencies must assess and disclose environmental impacts and consider public concerns, yet the FCC has one of the least rigorous NEPA frameworks of any agency. Few of its authorized activities undergo any meaningful review. It delegates the preliminary environmental review to industry with no oversight or agency record; industry also prepares the few environmental assessments that may be required from the preliminary review. Its notice and comment procedures seem designed to exclude the public, and, unlike most agencies, the FCC has no web page devoted to NEPA documents or compliance. It has almost never enforced its environmental rules against industry violators.
The consequences of these failures are visible nationwide: protected landscapes and historic viewsheds marred, wetlands filled, endangered species habitat destroyed, sacred sites desecrated, burial mounds disturbed, and fragile underwater environments degraded. Equally important, the voices of communities and citizens have been suppressed and ignored.
Now, echoing industry demands to cut “regulatory red tape,” the FCC is proposing to further weaken its skeletal NEPA rules, exempt more of its actions from environmental review, and further exclude the public. It would redefine which actions trigger environmental review so that even fewer authorizations—covering most cell towers and satellite deployments—would be assessed for environmental effects. It would narrow the scope of the few environmental documents that remain and make them less available to the public. Most egregiously, the FCC proposes eliminating its lone public notice provision that alerts communities when a new tower is proposed, thereby allowing residents to object. Although the FCC routinely dismisses objections, the provision complies with a key NEPA requirement.
Both of the FCC’s proposals are a draconian solution to a nonexistent “problem.” At the end of 2024, industry statistics show 651,000 cell towers and wireless facilities operating nationwide, with thousands more, including satellites, approved or underway. Every major wireless carrier has nationwide coverage. Industry has prepared few environmental assessments over the years, and the FCC has never produced a more thorough environmental impact statement. Contrary to industry claims, red tape has not hindered deployment.
As wireless technologies proliferate—with presumably even less scrutiny, oversight, and public input—the environmental and community impacts will only multiply. Taken together, the FCC’s twin proposals would render an already weak NEPA process largely meaningless, strip local and state governments of nearly all of their congressionally granted authority, and leave the agency even less accountable to the public.
With almost 30 bills introduced on accelerating broadband siting this session, Congress too is doing its part to “free” industry from local control and environmental laws. Any and all of these radical new frameworks will hand industry a carte blanche to deploy infrastructure that runs roughshod over local, state, and public interests as well as the environment.
Construction crews are creating what will be the longest unbroken stretch of border wall in an area of Arizona that serves as a critical wildlife corridor.
Across the world, efforts to reintroduce imperiled animals to their natural habitats have gained momentum, but in the Madrean Sky Islands of Arizona, jaguars are doing it on their own.
Less than a month ago, Chris Schnaufer, a citizen scientist volunteer with the University of Arizona Wild Cat Research and Conservation Center, and another volunteer, were checking one of their remote trail cameras. Schnaufer, a long-distance hiker, often got the center’s toughest assignments, and both men were tired when they reached the mountain camera site. They replaced batteries and collected the SD card and hiked back to the trailhead. That night, at home, Schnaufer scrolled through the images of deer, bear, bobcats, mountain lions, foxes, owls, skunks, and a coatimundi. And then, there it was, in the semidarkness of early morning, the striking image of a jaguar drinking from a waterhole. The photos showed its muscular shoulder and its distinctive inky-black rosettes.
When the University of Arizona Wild Cat Research and Conservation Center released the photographs of the jaguar roaming the rugged mountains of southern Arizona, it confirmed that it was a never-before-recorded big cat. Jaguars have their own unique markings, as singular as a human’s fingerprint, and this was one new to the center’s database. Though it has not yet identified its sex, the center is calling it Jaguar No. 5, dubbed Cinco, the fifth jaguar to be photographed in the Sky Islands since 2011, the second one discovered since 2023, and the ninth one spotted in the US since 1996.

When the photos were made public, and news agencies across the country buzzed with excitement about the future of the state’s wild jaguar population, Schnaufer still felt the existential thrill of knowing he had been hiking in jaguar country.
Three-quarters of a century ago, Aldo Leopold penned his essay “The Green Lagoons,” which chronicles a 1923 canoeing adventure in the Delta region of the Colorado River. He and his brother Carl hoped to “find sign of the… the great mottled jaguar, el tigre.” They “saw neither hide nor hair of him, but his personality pervaded the wilderness.”
While I was researching my book, Heart of the Jaguar, and backpacking sections of the Sky Islands, three jaguars called the Sky Islands home—Cochise, Sombra, and O:ṣhad Ñu:kudam. I never saw so much as a track, but what mattered most to me was what the presence of a big, spotted cat prowling the mountains of southern Arizona implied: a kind of wildness.

The Sky Islands, situated at the northern edge of a 5,000-mile jaguar range that extends as far south as Argentina, are indeed wild. More than a century ago, they were prime jaguar habitat. Some biologists and conservationists, including Susan Malusa, director of the Wild Cat Research and Conservation Center for the last 13 years, think they still are. “The picture of Jaguar No. 5 is a moment in time,” Malusa says. “But it’s part of a greater story, and that story is that the Sky Islands are part of the jaguar’s historical range. Jaguars wouldn’t be coming here if they weren’t finding what they need.”
The entire jaguar range is based on the principle of connection. Alan Rabinowitz, the celebrated zoologist and co-founder of Panthera, the global wild cat conservation organization, (who passed away in 2018), envisioned the jaguar realm as a mammal’s circulatory system. The core areas of jaguar production are its heart; the corridors linking them are its veins and arteries. A functioning system would nurture the species, while at the same time allowing nomadic, individual cats the freedom to spread their genetics across the corridor.
Susan Malusa believes it could be just a matter of time before other jaguars cross over from Mexico into the United States. “The cats are coming,” she says. “This is our chance to get it right; we have an obligation. Essentially, our job is not to screw it up.”
But screwing it up is exactly what we are doing. Currently, construction crews are dynamiting huge swaths of the unspoiled Coronado National Memorial and building hulking, 30-foot walls in the San Rafael Valley, creating what will be the longest unbroken stretch of border wall in an area of Arizona that serves as a critical wildlife corridor.
The Trump administration, which is not known for its love of wild places, waived the Endangered Species Act, the National Environmental Policy Act, and a host of other laws, to build a wall that will stop jaguars and dozens of other species in their tracks. And southern Arizona will be poorer for it. Apex predators like jaguars maintain ecosystem health, balance prey populations, and sustain biodiversity. They also change the spirit of the land. They contribute to what Aldo Leopold described as a “vast pulsing harmony.” And when they are gone, a “glory has departed.”
But perhaps in spite of the obstacles in their path, that glory is beginning to come back, as exemplified by Jaguar No.5.