FAIRBANKS, Alaska (AP) — President Donald Trump’s administration and its allies have pushed aggressively for drilling, mining and logging in Alaska.
This has intensified long-standing debate over extraction projects in the nation’s largest state, particularly within Alaska Native communities.
Some view such projects as key to jobs and economic development. Others see them posing environmental risks as they’ve already faced severe fishing restrictions on the state’s longest rivers due to a collapse in the salmon population.
Scientists are unsure of the causes of the salmon collapse — which possibly include warming waters and commercial fishing — but opponents of extraction say its possible impacts could be similar in terms of endangering subsistence traditions and food sources. They say this risks, in turn, damaging their sacred connections to the land and to cultural traditions tied to fishing and hunting.
How has the administration pushed for extraction projects?
Trump signed an executive order on his first day in office in January seeking to “maximize the development and production of the natural resources” in the state.
Congress, in its recent budget bill, authorized an unprecedented four new sales of oil and gas leases in the coastal plain of the Arctic National Wildlife Refuge in northeast Alaska. It also authorized more sales in the National Petroleum Reserve-Alaska in the northern part of the state.
Extraction proposals take years to become reality, if ever. Previous lease sales have generated limited interest, and the extent of oil reserves in the Arctic refuge remains uncertain.
Members of Trump’s Cabinet visited Alaska in June. They called for doubling the amount of oil coursing through its vast pipeline system and building a massive natural gas pipeline as its “big, beautiful twin.”
The administration is also boosting the proposed Ambler Mining District Industrial Access Project, which would include construction of a 200-mile road in wilderness areas and open the way for more mines.
Private corporations are pursuing projects, some in collaboration with Alaska Native corporations — which sometimes are in conflict with their Indigenous shareholders — and landowners. One is an oil exploration project in the Yukon Flats. Another is a proposed major gold mine in southwestern Alaska, which would require a massive dam to contain millions of tons of chemical and mineral waste. Project proponents say the dam will be safely built, incorporating the surrounding geology and state-of-the-art design.
Trump’s policy shifts came even as he removed one of the most prominent Alaska Native names from the official map. He returned the federal name of “Mount McKinley” to the largest mountain in Alaska and North America. For all their disputes over extraction, Native and Alaska political leaders were largely united in wanting to keep its traditional Athabascan name of Denali, which translates to “the high one.”
What are the views of Alaska Natives favoring such projects?
They say the projects can be done safely and bring much-needed jobs and economic development. They say this enables Native communities to fund services while retaining their subsistence hunting, fishing and other cultural traditions.
“We find that balance,” said PJ Simon, first chief of the Allakaket Tribal Council. “We don’t want handouts by the federal government. We want to stand on our own two feet.”
Regional and local Native-run corporations, with the mandate of pursuing economic development for the benefit of Native shareholders, are actively involved in extraction proposals. In some cases, they own land and mineral rights in areas eyed for drilling or mining.
What about Alaska Natives opposing such projects?
They fear large-scale drilling and mining will overwhelm their ancient subsistence traditions. They say any short-term profits will precede a long-term legacy of environmental impacts to rivers, tundra and hunting grounds.
“Our people have been stewards of this land for millennia, and we’ve taken that relationship seriously because we have to sustain our resources,” said Gloria Simeon of Bethel, a small regional hub in southwestern Alaska, and a member of the environmental advocacy group Mother Kuskokwim Tribal Coalition.
Already, tribes are struggling with severe fishing restrictions on their longest rivers, the Yukon and Kuskokwim, because of a collapse in salmon populations, which they have relied on for generations.
The salmon collapse has been blamed on such factors as commercial overfishing and climate change. But many fear that extractive industries will create similar and permanent damage to caribou, salmon and other traditional food sources.
“We’re already dealing with salmon problems,” said Chief Brian Ridley of the Tanana Chiefs Conference, a Fairbanks-based coalition of Athabascan tribes across Interior Alaska that oppose proposed drilling projects and the Ambler road project. “The concern is if we start going down this path anywhere along the Yukon or any of the rivers and there’s a spill, would that completely eliminate all the salmon stocks?”
He said it’s not just theoretical. A mine disaster in Canada last year caused a massive release of cyanide-laced debris, which caused fears that contamination might spread.
Such a mining accident in the Yukon watershed could “really take all the gains that we’ve gotten of trying to get the fish stocks back and really put us back to zero,” Ridley said.
Why are subsistence hunting and fishing so important?
Alaska Native people have relied for generations on hunting and fishing to survive the brutal winters — and in modern times, as a healthier alternative to expensive groceries.
Fish camps and caribou hunts are closely interwoven with cultural traditions, where elders transmit skills and stories to younger generations.
“Protecting the river and the land and the Earth is part of the partnership and the relationship that we have as caregivers,” said Simeon.
Who are Alaska Natives?
Alaska Natives consist of diverse cultural and language groups in the state, among them the Aleut, Athabascan, Iñupiat, Tlingit and Yup’ik.
They widely share a history in the region dating back thousands of years. They also share cultural and spiritual traditions, including those closely associated with subsistence hunting, and a belief in a sacred connection to the land, water and wildlife. Specific practices vary, and many follow both traditional and Christian practices.
More than 1 in 5 Alaskans identify as Alaska Native or American Indian alone or in combination with another racial group, the highest ratio of any state, according to 2020 U.S. Census figures.
The 1971 Alaska Claims Settlement Act, which resolved long-standing land claims with the federal government, resulted in establishment of regional and local for-profit corporations run by Native leaders for the benefit of Native shareholders.
In some cases, such corporations are involved in extraction projects that tribal coalitions from the same area oppose.
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Associated Press journalists Becky Bohrer in Juneau, Alaska, and Mark Thiessen in Anchorage, Alaska, contributed to this report.
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Trump's push for drilling, mining sharpens debate for Alaska Natives about land they view as sacred
BETHEL, Alaska (AP) — Fish camps still dot the banks of the broad Kuskokwim River in southwestern Alaska. Wooden huts and tarped shelters stand beside drying racks draped with bright red strips of salmon, which Alaska Native families have harvested for generations and preserved for the bitter winters ahead.
But the once-abundant salmon populations have declined so sharply in recent years that authorities have severely restricted subsistence fishing on Alaska’s second-longest river. They’ve imposed even tighter restrictions on the longer Yukon River to the north.
Various factors are blamed for the salmon collapse, from climate change to commercial fishing practices. What’s clear is the impact is not just on food but on long-standing rituals — fish camps where elders transmit skills and stories to younger generations while bonding over a sacred connection to the land.
“Our families are together for that single-minded purpose of providing for our survival,” said Gloria Simeon, a Yup’ik resident of Bethel. “It’s the college of fish camp.”
So when Alaska Natives debate proposals to drill, mine or otherwise develop the landscape of the nation’s largest state, it involves more than an environmental or economic question. It’s also a spiritual and cultural one.
“We have a special spiritual, religious relationship to our river and our land,” said Simeon, standing outside her backyard smokehouse where she uses birch-bark kindling and cottonwood logs to preserve this year’s salmon catch. “Our people have been stewards of this land for millennia, and we’ve taken that relationship seriously.”
Trump policies intensify the debates
Such debates are simmering across the state’s vast tundra, broad rivers, sprawling wetlands and towering mountain ranges. Put a pin just about anywhere on the map of Alaska, and you’re likely to hit an area debating a proposed mine, a new wilderness road, a logging site, an oil well, a natural gas pipeline.
Such debates have intensified during President Donald Trump’s second term. His administration and allies have pushed aggressively for drilling, mining and developing on Alaska’s public lands.
More than 1 in 5 Alaskans identify as Alaska Native or American Indian alone or in combination with another racial group, the highest ratio of any state, according to 2020 U.S. Census figures. Alaska Natives include Aleut, Athabascan, Iñupiat, Tlingit, Yup’ik and other groups. For all their diversity, they share a history in the region dating back thousands of years, as well as cultural and spiritual traditions, including those closely associated with subsistence hunting and gathering.
Native leaders and activists are divided about extraction projects. Supporters say they bring jobs and pay for infrastructure. Opponents say they imperil the environment and their traditions.
Tribal members sometimes even find themselves on opposite sides of the same proposal. Native-run corporations — formed to benefit Alaska Native shareholders — are supporting a mine in southwestern Alaska that a regional tribal coalition opposes, a scenario similar to an oil exploration project underway in Interior Alaska.
Trump singled out Alaska as a priority for extraction projects in an executive order signed on his first day in office.
“Unlocking this bounty of natural wealth will raise the prosperity of our citizens while helping to enhance our Nation’s economic and national security,” the order said.
Increasingly, words are turning to action.
Congress, in passing Trump’s budget bill in July, authorized an unprecedented four new sales of oil and gas leases in the coastal plain of the Arctic National Wildlife Refuge, and still more in other locations.
Trump cabinet officials made a high-profile visit in June to Prudhoe Bay in Alaska’s far north — an aging oil field that is one of the largest in North America. They touted goals of doubling the oil coursing through Alaska’s existing pipeline system and building a massive natural gas pipeline as its “big, beautiful twin.”
Trump’s policy shifts came even as he removed one of the most prominent Alaska Native names from the official map. He returned the federal name of “Mount McKinley” to the largest mountain in Alaska and North America. For all their disputes over extraction, Native and Alaska political leaders were largely united in wanting to keep its traditional Athabascan name of Denali, which translates to “the high one.”
‘We need jobs … to stand on our own two feet’
It takes years for proposed extraction projects to unfold, if they ever do. The extent of oil reserves in the Arctic refuge remains uncertain. Limited infrastructure and harsh weather raise costs. No major oil company bid during the only two lease sales offered to date in the Arctic refuge.
But the measures pushed by the new administration and Congress amount to the latest pendulum swing between Republican and Democratic presidents, between policies prioritizing extraction and environmental protections.
The budget bill calls for additional lease sales in the National Petroleum Reserve-Alaska, west of the Arctic refuge, and opening more areas to potential leasing than authorized under recent Democratic administrations.
Alaska’s political leaders generally have cheered on the push for more extraction, including its Republican congressional delegation and its governor, who has called his state “America’s natural resource warehouse.”
So have some Native leaders, who say their communities stand to benefit from jobs and revenues. They say such projects are critical to their economic prospects and self-determination, providing jobs and helping their communities pay for schools, streets and snow removal. They’ve accused the previous administration of President Joe Biden of ignoring their voices.
“We need jobs. Our people need training, to stand on our own two feet. Our kids need a future,” said PJ Simon, first chief of the Allakaket Tribal Council. He said communities can maintain their traditions while benefiting from economic development — but that it’s crucial that public officials and businesses include them in the planning. “Native people want to be heard, not pushed aside,” Simon said.
Mayor Nathan Gordon Jr. of Kaktovik, the only community within the Arctic refuge, applauded the budget bill. It enables Kaktovik “to strengthen our community, preserve our cultural traditions, and ensure that we can remain in our homelands for years to come,” he said in a statement issued by Voice of the Arctic Iñupiat, a group advocating for oil exploration.
A ‘lack of respect’ for Native subsistence traditions
But Native opponents of such projects say short-term economic gains come at the risk of long-term environmental impacts that will reverberate widely.
“We’re kind of viewed as the last frontier, like we have unlimited resources,” said Sophie Swope, executive director of the environmental advocacy group Mother Kuskokwim Tribal Coalition.
She said Alaska’s most renewable resources — such as salmon, deer and other migratory wildlife — are threatened both by overly aggressive ocean fishing and by extractive industries.
“There’s that lack of respect for our traditional subsistence lifestyles,” she said.
Opponents of oil drilling in the Arctic refuge fear it will permanently disrupt the long-range migration of caribou, which Native people have hunted for millennia. The Tanana Chiefs Conference, a coalition representing dozens of tribes in Alaska’s interior south of the refuge, has long opposed the drilling.
A massive caribou herd goes to the refuge’s coastal plain to calve in the spring before fanning out across a wider area, providing a crucial food source for Native hunters in Alaska and Canada.
If the herd’s migration is disrupted, opponents fear an impact similar to the salmon collapse — a loss not just of food but of a focal point of culture and spirituality.
While the source of the salmon crisis is uncertain, researchers say possible causes include the impacts of commercial fishing, disease, warming waters, other environmental changes and competition between wild and hatchery-reared fish. In a June policy brief, Indigenous leaders, scientists and policy experts called for further study and for easing the disproportionate impact of the crisis on subsistence fishermen.
But if the salmon collapse’s cause isn’t clear, its impact is.
It has meant “no fish camps, no traditional knowledge that’s been passed down to our younger generation,” said Kristen Moreland, executive director of the Fairbanks-based advocacy group Gwich’in Steering Committee.
Moreland said she regularly takes her children to her home village in the north to reconnect with traditional festivals and activities, including those centered around the caribou hunt: “They learn all our traditional knowledge that way. What if the caribou doesn’t migrate up there anymore?”
The yearslong battle over the refuge takes its toll, she said. “How long do we have to advocate for our land and our people?”
Chief Brian Ridley of the Tanana Chiefs Conference said he sympathizes with those tribal leaders supporting development, given the shortage of well-paying jobs in many villages.
But concern over potential long-term environmental damage has prompted the conference to oppose projects such as oil drilling in the Arctic refuge and the nearer Yukon Flats, as well as construction of the so-called Ambler Road, which could open access to mining in more remote areas.
Ridley said he recently attended a national conference with other tribal leaders who echoed a common theme — opposing “development projects on our land or near our land that come in and promise jobs and whatnot, and they come and go and then we get stuck with the long-term negative aspects of cleanup and restoration.”
Empty smokehouses, broken spirits
In southwestern Alaska, a proposed major mine, the Donlin Gold project, has long been debated.
The project, planned by private investors in cooperation with Native corporations owning the land and mineral rights, would require a massive dam to hold back millions of tons of mineral and chemical waste in a valley.
Project proponents say the dam will involve state-of-the-art design, with its wide base anchored to bedrock and the surrounding mountain walls incorporated into containing the debris. Proponents tout benefits including jobs, shareholder payments and funds for such things as village services and education.
“This kind of project, since it’s on our lands, is different than most other resource projects,” said Thomas Leonard, vice president of corporate affairs for Calista Corp., a regional Alaska Native corporation involved. “We literally have a seat at the table, have a voice in the project.”
But opponents, such as Mother Kuskokwim and some area tribes, aren’t convinced and say the risk of a failure on the Kuskokwim watershed is too great.
“Protecting the river and the land and the Earth is part of the partnership and the relationship that we have as caregivers,” Simeon said.
That relationship isn’t abstract, Simeon said. She said the disruption of communal hunting and fishing activities leads to a spiritual rootlessness that she believes contributes to alarming rates of addictions and suicide among Alaska Native people.
“What does it do to your heart and soul when you have to look at an empty smokehouse year after year after year, and you can’t provide for your family?” Simeon said.
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Associated Press journalists Becky Bohrer in Juneau, Alaska, and Mark Thiessen in Bethel contributed to this report.
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Associated Press religion coverage receives support through the AP’s collaboration with The Conversation US, with funding from Lilly Endowment Inc. The AP is solely responsible for this content.
August 8, 2025
Photo: Jeffrey St. Clair.
It’s not exactly big news that the Trump administration – famous for slashing Biden era clean energy subsidies and cheering on fossil fuels to the tune of “Drill Baby, Drill” – is not interested in policies to address climate change. And lately they have been busy finding new ways to undermine the science that enhances our understanding of the threats posed by a warming planet.
Back in April, the administration announced that it was dismissing the academics and experts who compile the federal government’s National Climate Assessment, a Congressionally mandated report that is released every few years. The next edition had been planned for 2027, and was intended to address how warming would impact public health, agriculture, water, and the broader economy. The report is used widely by researchers and government officials.
That was just the start. In July, NPR reported that the website that hosts the most recent assessment had stopped working. It is hard to imagine a clearer sign of the administration’s disdain for science. But the next step came weeks later, when the Department of Energy published a new report titled “A Critical Review of Impacts of Greenhouse Gas Emissions on the US Climate.” It was authored by a small group of well-known climate ‘skeptics’ who argue that the overwhelming scientific consensus should not be considered ‘settled,’ and that there is generally too much alarmism about the impacts of climate change. As the New York Times noted, the report could be seen as Trump’s intention to “wage a battle against climate change research, a long-held goal of some conservative groups and fossil fuel companies.”
The hurried report did not sit well with some of the researchers cited in the document. Among the reactions: One said it “completely misrepresents my work,” another called it “a serious misuse of my research,” while one more said her work “was taken out of context.” One researcher found that a supplementary graph in one of his papers was cited, but noted that “the actual content of my paper went counter to the narrative they were trying to present, and thus was ignored.”
More broadly, scientists who were willing to speak said the DOE report “gives a terribly skewed view of the underlying climate science” that cherry-picks data to support specific conclusions (in one case, to support the contention that sea level rise is not actually accelerating). Michael Mann of the University of Pennsylvania sumed it up this way: “They constructed a deeply misleading antiscientific narrative, built on deceptive arguments, misrepresented datasets, and distortion of actual scientific understanding. Then they dressed it up with dubious graphics composed of selective, cherry-picked data.”
On the same day that this climate ‘review’ was released, the administration had more news: It was seeking to revoke the 2009 endangerment finding, which forms the legal basis for the rules crafted by the Environmental Protection Agency (EPA) to limit climate pollution from sources like cars and power plants. It is, as Politico put it, “the most audacious attempt yet by President Donald Trump to undo federal restrictions on fossil fuels.” Indeed, their intentions could not be any clearer.
This first appeared on CEPR.
Peter Hart is the domestic communications director at CEPR. He previously worked in communications at the national advocacy group Food & Water Watch and before that was the activism director at the media watchdog group FAIR. For over a decade he co-hosted the group’s weekly radio show CounterSpin and coauthored a book about Fox News called The Oh Really? Factor.
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