Who owns the wilderness Elyse Cox
In 1903, the President
of the United States
took a three-day camping trip
in California’s Yosemite Valley.
President Theodore Roosevelt slept
in a grove of towering Sequoia trees,
camped in a snowstorm, and spent hours
talking around the campfire
with his host and guide,
conservationist John Muir.
Roosevelt famously loved the outdoors,
but Muir had invited him there
for more than just camping:
Yosemite was in danger.
Though Yosemite became
protected land in 1864,
the valley was still at risk
for overdevelopment in 1903.
It was at the heart of a decades-old
struggle to set aside land
for both preservation and public use—
two goals that were much easier
said than done.
The battle over Yosemite began
with the 1849 gold rush,
when miners surged west, seeking gold
in the Sierra Nevada foothills.
In 1851, a state-sanctioned militia,
drove the Ahwahneechee tribe
from Yosemite Valley.
Those who managed to return witnessed
white settlers claiming the land,
felling giant sequoias,
and building hotels and saloons.
In response, a small group
of concerned Californians
lobbied senator John Conness to protect
the valley from private interests.
In 1864, Congress passed Conness’ bill,
granting the Yosemite Valley
to the State of California,
marking the first time the U.S. government
brought land under public protection.
But the management of that land remained
an open question,
one that would only become
more complicated
as more lands came
under similar protection.
Seven years later,
geologist Ferdinand Hayden
led an expedition
to the Yellowstone Plateau,
which many Native American tribes used
for ceremonies, hunting, and trade.
The expedition’s scientists and artists
brought back news
of spectacular geysers and hot springs,
inspiring widespread support to bring
Yellowstone under government protection—
and restrict native people’s
access to the land.
However, unlike Yosemite, Yellowstone
couldn’t be granted to a state—
it was part of three U.S. territories
that hadn’t become states yet.
Instead, Congress brought Yellowstone
under federal stewardship in 1872,
creating the world’s first true
National Park.
During his presidency,
Teddy Roosevelt was instrumental
in expanding the lands
under public protection.
By 1916, there were
fifteen national parks.
But the problem of management
remained unsolved,
and maintenance of the park
was handled haphazardly
over multiple government departments.
Straightforward tasks like building roads
and hiring personnel
required inefficient
bureaucratic maneuvering.
None of the departments had set rules
for conduct in the park,
so hunters killed park wildlife,
cattle overgrazed fields,
and visitors vandalized landmarks.
The solution came from Canada,
which had a highly effective
centralized park service.
In 1916, the United States established
the National Park Service
based on this model.
To this day, the mission for the park
service is comprised of two goals
that sometimes conflict:
to conserve the parks for the future
and to allow the public to enjoy them.
That’s a delicate balancing act:
roads, trails, and other infrastructure
make the parks accessible to visitors,
but also alter the landscape,
while visitors themselves can contribute
to pollution, erosion,
and damage of delicate ecosystems.
The very history of preservation
can also be at odds with this mission.
Many parks were not,
at the time of their founding,
the uninhabited wilderness that’s become
the standard for their preservation.
Instead, many were homes or places
of worship for native peoples,
who lost access to these lands
in the name of public use.
Only recently has
the National Park Service
begun to reckon with this legacy
and engage Native Americans
in park management.
Around the world, indigenous communities
play crucial roles
in land management and preservation.
Today, there are thousands
of national parks worldwide,
and each must balance public use with
historical and ecological preservation.
Parks in New Zealand, Iceland, Australia,
and South Africa
have experienced severe erosion
as visitor numbers have skyrocketed.
Some, like Mu Ko Similan National Park
in Thailand,
have closed sections to tourists entirely
to allow the ecosystem to recover.
National Parks have preserved
irreplaceable landscapes
for future generations.
They also force us to reckon
with hard questions:
what are our responsibilities
to this planet, and to each other?