A Gwich'in hunter keeps an eye out for the Porcupine caribou herd just outside the Arctic National Wildlife Refuge in Alaska.Emily Sullivan/Gwich'in Steering Committee

This story was originally published by Grist and is reproduced here as part of the Climate Desk collaboration.

As Kristen Moreland waited for the livestream to buffer, her thoughts drifted to the years she’d devoted to defending Arctic National Wildlife Refuge, the northeastern sweep of Alaska where the mountains give way to the coastal plain. On screen, the chatter of aides stilled as men in dark suits gathered behind a lectern. Then, Secretary of the Interior Doug Burgum announced plans to open the area, roughly the size of South Carolina, to drilling. 

It marked another round in the decades-long tug-of-war over developing one of the country’s largest remaining protected areas—an effort that came to a head during President Donald Trump’s first term and ground to a halt when President Joe Biden took office. Burgum also restored seven oil and gas leases that a state-funded corporation had bid on during the final days of the first Trump administration, and that his successor later revoked.

Moreland, a Gwich’in leader and executive director of the tribal committee dedicated to protecting the Nation’s sacred coastal plain, sat stunned as the YouTube stream continued. The place she grew up—where generations have lived on the tundra alongside the caribou, weaving their history into the land—had been reduced to a line item on someone’s balance sheet. When Burgum said opening the refuge would benefit northern communities, “it felt like a slap in the face,” she said. 

Big banks and insurers have refused to finance or underwrite projects in the refuge, citing environmental risks. Oil majors have also steered clear.

“They’ve never reached out to us to listen to how this would affect our livelihood,” she said. Moreland fears development will drive the herd that the Gwich’in rely on out of range and contaminate rivers in a region where hunting and fishing are a matter of survival. For her, it felt like erasure. “It’s another disrespectful action from decision-makers,” she said. “It ignores our voice as Gwich’in and violates our rights as Indigenous people.”

As the fight over development in the Arctic continues, federal officials are racing to fulfill Trump’s “energy dominance” agenda. Though the government is shut down and many employees are not getting paid, officials continue approving permits for extractive industries. In a wood-paneled Beltway office, Burgum framed his “sweeping package of actions” as a declaration that “Alaska is open for business.” 

To that end, the administration also signed permits for the controversial 211-mile Ambler Road to mineral deposits, including one owned by Trilogy Metals—which the Trump administration now holds a 10 percent stake in—and authorized a land exchange that will allow for construction of a road through Izembek National Wildlife Refuge, at the tip of the Alaskan Peninsula. “I told the president it’s like Christmas every morning,” Republican Gov. Mike Dunleavy said. “I wake up, I go to look at what’s under the proverbial Christmas tree to see what’s happening.”

That October 23 announcement may not end up being the gift the governor is hoping for. 

The fight over drilling in the refuge began almost as soon as President Dwight D. Eisenhower established the........

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