Public Lands Face Cuts and Erasure of History

What's happening to the public lands in our backyard, now that the Interior Secretary's proposed budget cuts are making headlines? The answer isn't simple, but it starts with a staggering number: nearly 3,000 positions cut from the National Park Service alone. That's what Interior Secretary Doug Burgum is proposing, and it's not just the Park Service - thousands more jobs are on the chopping block across the Bureau of Land Management, U.S. Geological Survey, Fish and Wildlife Service, and Bureau of Indian Affairs.

This isn't the first time we've seen these cuts proposed, and Congress largely rejected them last time around. But the administration is trying again, and the impact on local public lands could be significant. For folks around here, that means fewer rangers to maintain trails, fewer biologists to study and protect wildlife, and fewer historians to preserve the stories of the region. Picture this: a visitor center with no one to answer questions, a trailhead with no maps or guidance, a historic site with no interpretation or context.

The thing is, these cuts aren't just about numbers - they're about people. About a quarter of National Park Service employees have left since January 2025, including many who worked in this state. That's not just a statistic; it's a loss of expertise, of knowledge, of passion for the work. And it's not just the jobs themselves, but the slow demoralization of being told that your life's work doesn't matter. As one former employee said, "it's like being told that the work you've dedicated your career to is no longer valued."

But here's the thing though: it's not just the job cuts that are concerning. It's the policy of erasing history itself. Under orders from Secretary Burgum and President Trump, the National Park Service has removed or flagged for removal hundreds of interpretive signs and exhibits across the country. That includes exhibits about enslaved people, Native American Tribes, and labor rights - all deemed unpatriotic by an administration that believes you can only honor America's 250th birthday by pretending half of its history never happened.

In the region, we have public lands with rich and complex histories. The Grand Mesa, Uncompahgre, and Gunnison National Forests are just a few examples. What happens when the signs and exhibits that interpret these histories are removed? Do we just forget the stories of the Ute people, or the early settlers, or the miners and ranchers who shaped the landscape? Not exactly. The stories remain, but the context, the interpretation, the education - all of that is lost.

And that matters because, as a community, we value our public lands and our history. We value the fact that our children can learn about the natural and cultural resources of the area in a accurate and comprehensive way. We value the fact that visitors can come and appreciate the beauty and complexity of these public lands. But when the signs and exhibits are removed, when the history is erased, we're left with a incomplete picture of who we are and where we come from.

At the end of March, Burgum also convened the "God Squad," officially known as the Endangered Species Committee, for the first time in more than three decades. The meeting lasted less than 30 minutes, yet the committee voted unanimously to exempt all oil and gas drilling in the Gulf of Mexico from the Endangered Species Act. The decision will almost certainly doom the Rice's whale, a species found nowhere else on Earth, of which roughly 50 remain. It was the first time national security was used as a reason to exempt an activity from the Endangered Species Act.

As the sun sets over the Grand Mesa, the future of public lands hangs in the balance, with uncertainty surrounding the potential consequences of these actions. The stars are coming out, and the landscape is quiet, but the outcome of these decisions is far from certain.