11:36 p.m. 2015. So far south that the night sky hummed orange for hours after the sunset. For the first time that season, the desert cold had teeth. It was Thanksgiving. It was my first time rappelling at night, my second time ever on a rope. The beam of my headlamp quivered around my feet. Sword-tipped leaves of desert succulents trembled in the wind.

鈥淟et鈥檚 go!鈥� Ben shouted from beneath me in the gully. My hands were trembling, holding my ATC, still clipped into the rope. 鈥淲hat are you waiting for?鈥�

I held my breath until I couldn鈥檛. When I finally whispered his name, I was too hoarse to be heard. I coughed.

鈥淏en, we鈥檙e not alone.鈥�

鈥淥f course we are, Astra. No one else is out here.鈥�

鈥淵ou didn鈥檛 see her?鈥�

鈥淲hat are you talking about?鈥�

Ben鈥檚 voice rose whenever he was angry. We were having an epic. It was my fault鈥擨 was new to the sport, and fumbling. The storm we鈥檇 spent two days racing had blown in too soon. It was booming around us. Isolated raindrops fell like sharp pellets. Ben was a towering man: bearded, broad-shouldered, with dinner-plate hands, now balled in fists.

鈥淏en,鈥� I whispered again. 鈥淭here was a girl in the gully. We rappelled right over her.鈥�

I finally met Ben鈥檚 eyes. A long moment passed before either of us spoke again. The only noise was the groan of the wind.

For years, I have averted my inner gaze from this memory. Still, stories from the Sonoran Desert keep returning to me in heartaching dispatches. It is nearly always bad news.

In 2019, a few years after I had left the Southwest, I learned from 国产吃瓜黑料 Online that Trump鈥檚 border wall would impact 111 endangered species of plants and 108 migratory birds. I learned that the amount of water needed to make the cement to construct the border wall had dewatered spring sites, likely permanently, that the Hia-Ced O鈥檕dham people have considered alive and sacred for more than 10,000 years. I learned that O鈥檕dham land defenders delayed the construction of the wall, despite being tear-gassed by police. Despite their efforts they did not succeed in protecting Quitobaquito Spring, which has by now been mostly drained dry.

In the stretch of desert where there was still no wall, migrants continued to cross. Immigration from Mexico has been largely driven by economic hardship that began in 1994, when NAFTA tanked the value of the peso. Increasingly, migrants are now coming north after landslides, hurricanes, and other disasters hastened by the changing climate. It had become illegal in Arizona to leave water in the desert where these migrants were known to travel. I learned of at least five volunteers being arrested after leaving gallon-sized jugs.

These news blips transport me back to my months spent in that liminal stretch of the Sonoran Desert, where Ben and I lived for a season. The years 2015 and 2016 were nervous pre-election times in which nearly every action in the U.S. borderlands felt underlined, melodramatic. My days felt ripe with the present-tense nostalgia that comes from knowing that in the future, one might be tasked with describing what it felt like to live through those years.

I had never seen a true desert before moving to Tucson: cactus blooms and milk-white sand that ran for days. People dumped their trash in the empty lots on the outskirts of our subdivision, but peeking out from behind the piles were saguaros tall enough to triumph over the refuse. As indicated by their four, or five, or eight cartoony arms, the saguaros at the street鈥檚 end might have been 70 or 80 years old, limbs reaching skyward as though in prayer.

I learned to climb in that desert. A boy taught me. I barely knew him. We had moved across the continent together from the Pacific Northwest after our second date. I was 1,000 miles farther south than I鈥檇 ever been, my heart as wide-open as the southern sky. The thing that swept me off my feet wasn鈥檛 the boy, but climbing鈥檚 endless balletics鈥攚hat Dr. Amrita Dhar called in a 2021 essay for Alpinist the absurd poiesis, or bringing into being, of the body鈥檚 possibility.

鈥淲hy put one鈥檚 heart into one鈥檚 fingertips and heave with all one鈥檚 strength?鈥� she wrote.

Ben had chosen Tucson for its accessible winter climbing. For the first weeks we lived there, we spent long mornings on the roof, facing Mount Lemmon鈥檚 craggy spine, visible on the horizon. I listened, rapt, as Ben described fantastical summits, heroic falls, and the subsequent efforts to start again, to climb higher. He recited the exotic names of spires from the list he had been carrying for years.

鈥淭hey say this one is the navel of the universe,鈥� Ben told me one Sunday morning, blowing steam off his burnt coffee.

Baboquivari.

鈥淏en,鈥� I said, chirpy and nervous from my propulsive desire to see the mountaintop, even as his description mostly consisted of words I couldn鈥檛 yet understand鈥攃hatter about ar锚tes and dynos, whippers and sends. 鈥淭ake me with you. I want to climb it.鈥�

What I yearned for, more than the athleticism of the sport鈥攎ore than the mystery that might be waiting on that summit鈥攚as to be part of Ben鈥檚 fantasy of the desert. He was haunted by visions of sand, sun, and strength. Ben had a way of turning everything he wanted into a reverie. I wanted to live in it, too, even without knowing what it would entail.

A long moment passed before Ben nodded.

Baboquivari.

Its name became a mantra for the next four days while we prepared. I bought a pair of discounted climbing shoes, learned how to read a topo, studied trip reports. One instructed the correct pronunciation for the peak鈥檚 name: rhymes with Den-o鈥�-Thievery, not Bottla-Bacardi.

Ben showed me the website Mountain Project. At the top of the page for the 5.6 route we planned to climb, it read:

鈥�Access Issue. Caution: Human and drug trafficking. Traffic from drug smuggling and illegal immigration is high in this area. Exercise caution. US Border Patrol recommends avoiding this area completely after dark.鈥� I read the passage aloud to Ben. We laughed at it.

The evening before we planned to leave, Ben drove us too quickly up the winding highway to Mount Lemmon. He taught me to lead-belay as the sun set. I followed him up Hitchcock Pinnacle鈥檚 40-foot face, a can of Banquet Beer in each pocket of my stiff work pants. The column rose like a clenched fist from the side of the highway, its spindly wrist of rock interrupted by a single bolt.

鈥淒on鈥檛 fall here,鈥� Ben said, laughing, when I unclipped the draw. 鈥淵ou鈥檒l swing too far and the rope could cut.鈥�

I swallowed the swell of my fear. In no time, he was pulling me onto the top of the pinnacle with his warm, rough hand. The day died around us. We clinked cans to the lipstick-red dusk. Ben rappelled first so I could watch him, then he shouted up instructions from the ground when I fumbled.

On that first climb, and at each of the subsequent hundred-some raps I would make in Ben鈥檚 presence, he yelled up at the exact moment I trusted the rope with my weight: 鈥淒on鈥檛 forget that you could die right now.鈥� My first rappel was by the light of the nearly full moon and the tangerine urban haze.

The Sonoran Desert spans what is today California, Arizona, and northwest Mexico. It is a desert of visual and material abundance. The Sonoran is home to more plant species than any other desert in the world. Most of the 2,000 unique species were borne by the rivers, but they learned to persist in the desert鈥檚 dry, harsh heat. The 350 different birds, 100 reptiles, 20 amphibians, 30 freshwater fish, and 1,000 native bees have adapted. Today, this desert is the only continuous habitat for America鈥檚 last jaguars.

For millennia, the Sonoran has been a transitory space. The land here was once cool and wet. But over millennia, plants鈥� habitats shifted from the Sierra Madre Occidental in the south to the Rocky Mountains in the north as the weather warmed. Lowlands became less hospitable. As the desert dried and crisped, peaks like Baboquivari became climate refugia for vegetation that could no longer survive in the harsh basins. These standalone peaks are migratory stopovers for plants like silverleaf oak, wild peppers, and tropical lobelias: plants with musical names.

The first national borders were drawn through these mountains in 1821, when Mexico declared independence from Spain. According to www.tonation-nsn.gov, Jesuit settlers occupying the land now known as Mexico arrived at every water source and worked to remove Indigenous village sites nearby, sequestering O鈥檕dham people in reservations. Even then, the new nation鈥檚 boundaries shifted fluidly. There were no static borders until the land was purchased by, and then named as, America. When the first lines distinguishing the two countries of Mexico and the United States were traced on paper maps in 1853, they cut between Indigenous Tohono O鈥檕dham settlements on either side.

And yet, for more than a century, the border was more abstraction than physical presence. In cross-border cities like El Paso-Ciudad Ju谩rez, more than 10,000 people used to cross the border each day as part of their work commutes. 鈥淭his mythical division between these two cities, it just doesn鈥檛 exist for most of us,鈥� Juan Sybert-Coronado of El Paso said for the podcast Radiolab鈥檚 episode 鈥淏order Trilogy No. 1.鈥� 鈥淚 mean, I go to the dentist over there [in Ju谩rez]. I buy cigarettes over there. OK, I smoke, yes. OK, OK?鈥�

Ni de aqu铆, ni de all谩, say those who have come of age in this transitory space: 鈥淣ot from here, not from there.鈥� Where the border was designed to cleave apart, instead it has cultivated a community of duality. People find belonging on both sides.

Humans have long been a migratory species. Some of us still thrive in an overture of movement that takes on a wider arc than daily migration. Take, for example, my own arrival in the Sonoran Desert, by way of Oregon and California before that, via the tiny hatchback whose trunk I鈥檇 made into my home. Take the more than 84 million (according to un.org) estimated environmental refugees: As of this decade, climate change has ignited the largest-ever global-scale mass migration鈥攗nless you count the millenia that all humans were migrants. There was a time at our species鈥� inception before we stayed in places, before we built towns and homes and gardens. For 8,000 years, archeologists estimate, we lived in temporary shelters, tracking seasonal hunts or harvests. We crossed valleys and mountains and seas, chasing each other from place to place, following hunger or love or both.

Before it was a landscape that could disappear people, the Sonoran was a place where one might roam. Stay a while. Walk the riverbed, as the O鈥檕dham have always done.

In the O鈥檕dham language, Baboquivari Peak is called Waw Kiwulik. Traditional iconography represents the peak with a labyrinth. According to the O鈥檕dham, I鈥檌toi the Creator still lives in a cave on Baboquivari鈥檚 northwest side. He comes and goes through an underground network of tunnels that are woven together like the gnarled, skeletal limbs of the cholla cacti that grow on the mountain鈥檚 slopes. According to other myths, I鈥檌toi arrived at Waw Kiwulik from 鈥渢he other side,鈥� emerging from the cave after a great flood. He created people to live among the receding waters, to wander the drying sand. In petroglyphs, I鈥檌toi is positioned at the labyrinth鈥檚 entry. The maze, some say, represents an individual鈥檚 life: the choices you make, the dreams you hang onto, the encounters that impact you.

Today, Baboquivari has been split in two. Legally, the managerial jurisdiction of the peak is split between the Bureau of Land Management and the Tohono O鈥檕dham Nation along the arc of the summit. The boundary of a designated wilderness under BLM purview is less than five miles from the Mexico border. Until mid-2021, in the canyons south of the mountain, 60-ton machines barrelled down slopes and carved roads out of rock to provide construction access for the site of the now-paused border wall. The silverleaf oaks sheltered the understory, their curved leaves protecting delicate flowers from the debris that fell from the sky after nearby outcrops were detonated to make way for the wall. Sun-bleached backpacks, lone shoes, and fragments of human bone still litter those sacred valleys in the shadow of the border.

Before this stretch of the border became a tangle of barbed wire and steel, policymakers had assumed that the land itself could exert sufficient hardship to keep would-be migrants away. In 1994, when the Clinton Administration began to increase border security via its so-called Operation Gatekeeper policy, they strategized that building walls would only be necessary in urban spaces. In the harshness of the Sonoran and Chihuahuan deserts, a wall felt superfluous. Who would ever willingly subject themselves to such a place?

鈥淲e did believe geography would be an ally to us,鈥� the former commissioner of Immigration and Naturalization Services, Doris Meissner, said on C-SPAN 16 years later. Until the mid-1990s, maybe five migrants would be reported dead while crossing the border each year. After 1994, that number jumped to several hundred annually. According to US Customs and Border Protection, the number then doubled again between 1995 and 2005鈥攁nd that鈥檚 before you account for the people whose bodies are never found.

The text of Operation Gatekeeper renders wilderness an American ally: 鈥淢ountains, deserts, lakes, rivers and valleys form natural barriers to passage,鈥� it reads. The legal text cited 鈥減revention through deterrence.鈥� Who would ever choose to come to this land, to subject themselves to its volatility?

On our way to the trailhead for Baboquivari, Ben and I drove through two border checkpoints. Men in baseball hats and army fatigues held long-necked automatic rifles across their shoulders. When they saw us鈥攚hen they saw that we were two white kids鈥攖hey waved us through, silent and smiling.

For six hours that first day, we hiked through a dry riverbed until it contoured up to Lion鈥檚 Ledge, the standard bivy for Baboquivari, near the base of the descent route off the summit. Ben told me that in the desert, dry riverbeds are called arroyos. Monsoonal storms rip through them, stripping everything away except the stubborn life that stays. Ben recited the names of the unfamiliar flora as if they were lines from poems: Velvet mesquite. Palo verde. Fairy duster. Prickly pear. They were needly things, plants that bit and stung. When we made it to Lion鈥檚 Ledge, I counted 68 thorns in my legs, despite the Carhartt pants Ben had insisted I wear. I picked out the thorns using tweezers. Blood bloomed after every thorn came out.

While writing this essay, I called my friend Prudence Katze, a researcher and filmmaker, so she could tell me what she knows about the desert. I haven鈥檛 been back to Tucson in years, but Prudence had spent most of the past year there. She鈥檚 working on a documentary about how nature has become 鈥渁n American weapon.鈥�

Prudence told me about a migrant man who had spent a lot of his passage traveling in arroyos. They鈥檙e frequently more than five or six feet deep, and impossible to see until you鈥檙e standing on the brink. Prudence said that he was walking up one when rain began to fall. Desert monsoons are urgent. They arrive with an electric thrill. Water rushes down the mountains and funnels into arroyos. What arrives is not a gentle trickle. Blink, and suddenly you鈥檙e standing in a river.

鈥淗e almost drowned,鈥� Prudence told me. 鈥淏efore he could crawl out of the arroyo, it was up to his armpits.鈥�

She told story after story like this. Living in Tucson, I had frequently heard similar reports from advocacy groups like No M谩s Muertes, who left gallons of water out on hot days, even after the state legislature made doing so illegal. Volunteers from No M谩s Muertes would count abandoned pairs of underwear. The fabric would last longer than the bodies of the people who didn鈥檛 make it.

Still, the desert doesn鈥檛 deter successfully enough. It just kills more subtly than other border policies the United States has experimented with. If anything, what it deters best is our capacity to witness.

On the second pitch of Baboquivari, I got stuck. A hundred feet up I had, for the first time, encountered a dihedral. In the crease in the back, Ben had placed a nut. It wasn鈥檛 deep, and he hadn鈥檛 yanked on its wire to set it. Around the nut, tiny cacti grew out of the crack. Their thorns leered at me, daring me to take shelter in the corner, to rest my body against its walls. I didn鈥檛 want to see that I was on the side of a cliff, a hundred feet above where we had started. I wasted an hour with my ragged breathing, my catastrophizing imagination, the worry that I might slowly starve to death here in this place. When I finally tried to remove the nut using the unfamiliar hooked nut tool, it came out easily.

The next handholds lined up like rungs on a ladder. I quickly made it to Ben鈥檚 anchor. He tousled my hair, held my chin in his hand. 鈥淲e鈥檙e really fucking behind now,鈥� he sighed, but he touched his nose to my nose.

The next four pitches came easily, but Ben was right: Despite our pre-dawn departure from Lion鈥檚 Ledge, the day was over. From the forecast we had read before leaving Tucson, we knew that the first cold storm of winter was due to blow in that night. By the time we reached the summit, the sky was merlot red. The peak cast a sapphire shadow that cut through the glow.

For the first time since arriving in Arizona, I was cold. The winds felt as if they were living up to the 40 miles per hour predicted by the forecast. From the summit, the knotted green ridges that bunched around the peak gave way to a lightless, flat expanse. There was BLM wilderness to the east, the Tohono O鈥檕dham Nation to the west, and Mexico to the south. The moon, which would be full that night, wouldn鈥檛 rise for hours.

鈥淏en, what are we going to leave?鈥� I had read that it was customary for anyone visiting I鈥檌toi鈥檚 home to leave an offering. It was a way of ensuring safe passage through the labyrinth. According to the Mountain Project page, 鈥淚f you are planning to take a gift for I鈥檌toi, you might choose a gift that I鈥檌toi can hand back out to stranded climbers. This might include lighters, waterproof matches, rain panchos [sic], space blankets, flashlights, etc.鈥�

Higher on the web page had been warnings of human trafficking, but no suggestions of leaving blankets, food, billfolds of American cash, or any other goods that might help the people trafficking or being trafficked. We had brought so much: a switchblade knife to cut the rope, should it become stuck; a comically slim first-aid kit; an entire pumpkin pie, because it was Thanksgiving.

鈥淲e can鈥檛 leave any of this,鈥� Ben said. So we left, leaving nothing.

The descent had five rappels, separated by rotten gullies, wandering trails, steep slabs, and little cliffs, all stacked like the teetering tiers of a cake. We pushed through cacti. By the last rappel, descending after Ben, I felt the itch of new scabs congealing on my ankles. The gully was low-angle enough that I was mostly jumping down the rope, kicking up flurries of little rocks each time I leapt and landed.

The girl was in the fetal position. My feet had landed inches from her hip. When I saw her, my spine straightened as if pulled by the moon.

As quickly as I could, I lowered myself below her. Then I waited, I don鈥檛 know for what. For her to speak, maybe. For the shock of discovery to leave my body. For some spark of wisdom about what I could possibly do in that moment to help her. Such insight never came. I sank into my harness.

It鈥檚 been six years and I am still speechless. I don鈥檛 know how to end this essay. In fact, I regret pitching it.

I was expecting to write sentences that would absolve me. I wanted a story that could exhume my ghosts. Not that I believe that she is one. I have to believe that the girl I left in the gully is alive and well today.

But she haunts me. In the attic of my brain, she is the gold-trimmed box, locked with a long-lost key. Mostly, I avoid thinking about her. I have tried so hard to avoid thinking about her. Her startlingly white T-shirt, parachuting away from her body despite the tight hug she held herself in, hands clasped over her turned-away face. The anachronistic early-2000s fade of her jeans, the sharpness of that contrast in my headlamp鈥檚 bright beam. I looked at her long enough to see the holes in her canvas sneakers, the rubber pulling away from the heel.

And then I looked away.

I hung, for a while, on the rope, still close enough to reach up and touch her. I imagined Ben below me, surrounded by dangerous men. I wondered if the girl was being trafficked, whether there might be someone armed above me, holding a knife to the rope.

I descended the remainder of the gully to join Ben among the waist-high wild aloes.

I didn鈥檛 lift my light to shine on her again.

I had known from the moment I opened the Mountain Project page that Baboquivari鈥檚 flanks were traveled by migrants. When I recently called Prudence, doubting my memory after six years, she confirmed that it鈥檚 common for people, the sick and the slow, to be left behind by the coyotes who smuggle them north.

The winds that night were tremendous鈥攂ack at our bivy, Ben and I stayed up all night, listening to our tent walls rattle. The loose gully we had rappelled was, perhaps, the best place the girl could find shelter. When you are stranded, ill-prepared in a winter storm, there are no good options.

Some people are drawn to climbing because of the rush of rubbing elbows with one鈥檚 mortality. This feels especially true of remote wilderness climbs, multi-pitch routes, the sort of high-angle mountain travel I was drawn to after learning how to climb that winter, and to which I have returned every year since.

I cannot think of anything more absurd than arriving at a precipice with real danger and delighting in it. We can only travel to the cliffside if our lives have afforded us that luxury. I climb because I am seeking exposure. I want to feel the air beneath my feet. I can climb because in my life, risk is a punctuation mark. It is not every letter in every word.

I came to Baboquivari desiring the risk that it represented, even as I knew others traveling through that antagonistic space were there only because it represented the lowest-risk option available to them.

This is true of all of us who travel to recreate. It is as true in Arizona as it is in any colonial country, at any North American crag. We are playing, all of us, in contested space.

Before we left plastic water jugs in the desert to blanch in the sun, before the rush of a monsoonal flood might carry away some lonely traveler hiding in a wash, this landscape used to have standing water. For time immemorial, Indigenous people would walk the rivers. The perennial flows had, for thousands of years, persisted. The O鈥檕dham origin story says that the world was born from the rubbing up of darkness against water. There were prickly pears and crimson evenings, the story says, before there were people.

Ben and I fought for months about what we did. It was my idea to leave the girl the last of our water, to yell into the wind that we had done so. He thought we should do more. I never figured out what he meant.

I took our water bottle, with its blue screw-on top and its little built-in handle, and put it on a boulder. The jug stood above the yucca and the barrel cacti. I turned her way and looked into the darkness.

Hay agua aqu铆.

Astra Lincoln, an essayist and climate researcher, is currently completing an MSc with the Mountain Legacy Project at the University of Victoria.

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President Biden used his executive authority today to restore protections to three national monuments whose federal safeguards were significantly curtailed under the Trump Administration.

Bears Ears National Monument in southeastern Utah, which former President Trump shrunk by about 85 percent, will be restored and slightly expanded beyond its original 1.3 million acres. Grand Staircase-Escalante, also in Utah, will be restored to its original 1.8 million acres. And Northeast Canyons and Seamounts, a marine monument in the Atlantic Ocean, will have its management conditions鈥攁ltered during the Trump Administration to loosen restrictions on commercial fishing鈥攔einstated.

鈥淚 am proud to stand with President Biden in restoring these monuments and fulfilling his commitment to the American people,鈥� said secretary of the interior Deb Haaland in a statement released yesterday. 鈥淥n my visit to Utah, I had the distinct honor to speak with many people who care deeply about this land. The historical connection between Indigenous peoples and Bears Ears is undeniable. This living landscape must be protected so that all Americans have the profound opportunity to learn and cherish our history.鈥�

Responding to the news yesterday, Patagonia released a statement in support of the decision.

鈥淲e want to thank the Bears Ears Inter-Tribal Coalition for their leadership and thank all of our friends in the Indigenous and environmental communities who have worked to protect Bears Ears National Monument,鈥� said Patagonia CEO Ryan Gellert. 鈥淲e also want to thank the Biden administration, especially secretary Haaland, for their work to restore protections for more than a million acres of sacred land.鈥�

According to the Interior Department, President Trump鈥檚 2017 reduction of Bears Ears and Grand Staircase-Escalante National Monuments represented the largest reduction in national monument designations in U.S. history. Brenda Mallory, chair of the White House Council on Environmental Quality, called Biden’s move to reverse that decision “righting a wrong.”

“The President鈥檚 action will ensure that our children, and our children鈥檚 children, will be able to experience the wonder, history, and beauty of these extraordinary public lands and waters as we do today,” Mallory said.

Not everyone was pleased with the decision. Utah鈥檚 congressional delegation鈥攃omprised of two Republican senators and three Republican representatives鈥攔eleased a joint statement yesterday saying President Biden’s actions have “fanned the flames of controversy and ignored input from the communities closest to these monuments.”

The Interior Department’s statement, however, seems to refute the idea that the administration ignored input from locals.

“To inform the report, Biden-Harris administration officials conducted Tribal consultations and met with numerous interested parties,” the statement said. These groups included Indigenous-led organizations; scientific and nonprofit organizations; small business owners; ranchers; outdoor recreation organizations; fishing industry representatives; New England and Mid-Atlantic Fishery Management Councils; the Atlantic States Marine Fisheries Commission; and conservation organizations.

With today’s action, Biden becomes the 18th president to use the authority of the Antiquities Act鈥攐riginally passed in 1906鈥攖o provide executive protections for cultural and natural resources in the U.S.

The post Biden Restores Three National Monuments Slashed by Trump, Including Bears Ears in Utah appeared first on 国产吃瓜黑料 Online.

When that Tom Collier, the CEO of Alaska鈥檚 long-stalled and highly controversial Pebble Mine project, was resigning after being ensnared in an environmental sting, it was just the latest shocking twist in the proposed mine鈥檚 yearslong saga of turnabouts and changes of fortune.听

The massive copper, gold, and molybdenum deposit is situated near the headwaters of two river systems that help sustain southwest Alaska鈥檚 pristine Bristol Bay region and its legendary salmon run. Discovered over 30 years ago, its development has long been opposed by听Native groups and fishermen, who believe an open-pit mine poses too great a threat to the ecosystem, not to mention the lives, culture, and $1.5 billion fishing economy that all depend on it.听

Since Canadian mining company Northern Dynasty Minerals acquired the rights to Pebble nearly two decades ago, residents and fishermen have lived in an uncomfortable purgatory, as the proposed mine鈥檚 prospects have waxed and waned and financial backers, governors, and presidents have come and gone. But even by this saga鈥檚 standards, the past few months have been remarkable, with twists and turns that include a cameo from Donald Trump听Jr.听and the release of secretly recorded video calls between mining-company executives and investigators posing as investors. Now, with Joe Biden should he win, the fate of this pristine slice of Alaska may hinge, like so much else, on the presidential election. Here鈥檚 everything you need to know to catch up on what鈥檚 happened.

A New CEO, a听New Administration, a听New Life

In 2010, six Bristol Bay tribes petitioned the EPA to intervene听and听block the mine鈥檚 development, and听after years of study and legal battles, the agency deemed the mine听too great of a risk to the area鈥檚 salmon. By the middle of Barack Obama鈥檚 second presidential term, in 2014, the EPA听was poised to use its authority under the Clean Water Act to veto the project.

That鈥檚 when Washington, D.C., lawyer Tom Collier was hired as CEO of the Pebble Limited Partnership, the subsidiary responsible for developing the deposit for Northern Dynasty, which owns the mineral rights to the state-owned land. (The 鈥減artnership鈥� part is a bit aspirational at this point: Northern Dynasty is the sole owner, after various mining-company partners .) Collier, a career Beltway insider, was tasked with trying to bring the project back from the brink by making the EPA problem go away. He orchestrated an extensive legal and lobbying strategy that succeeded in stalling the agency鈥檚听final decision in court just long enough to outlast the Obama administration. When Donald Trump was elected in 2016, Collier knew the听favorable combination of a pro-extraction president and a muzzled EPA might not last, so he had one goal: to file a mine plan capable of attaining its first major permit by the end of Trump鈥檚 first term. To underscore that objective, that if he achieved the permit within four years of applying for it, he鈥檇 be due an 鈥渆xtraordinary bonus鈥� of $12.5 million on top of his nearly $2 million annual compensation.

鈥淚f it hadn鈥檛 been for the election of Trump, I firmly believe this project would have been dead in 2017,鈥� says Joel Reynolds, western director and senior attorney for the Natural Resources Defense Council (NRDC), who has spent years directing the nonprofit鈥檚 fight against Pebble. 鈥淏ut Trump breathed new life into it.鈥�

In December 2017, with the EPA action withdrawn, Pebble filed an application with the Army Corps of Engineers for its first federal permit, which would grant it听permission to excavate and fill in wetlands. The application proposed a smaller, shorter-duration mine, operating at a shallower depth and extracting a tiny fraction of the deposit鈥檚 known reserves. The plan was designed, ostensibly, as a responsible alternative to the more ambitious proposals Pebble had floated in investor materials over the years. The corps then laid out what many observers saw as an timeline for completing an environmental review for a project of this size and complexity, one that would enable it to wrap up before the end of Trump鈥檚 term. (By comparison, the review process for another controversial Alaskan mine project, , took nearly six years.)听

From Pebble鈥檚 perspective, it was听finally getting a fair shake, unimpeded by what it听had seen as politically driven interference by the EPA, and the timeline seemed reasonable, a function of efficiency rather than urgency. 鈥淭he corps has been able to do their work efficiently, largely because of all the work we put in ahead of time,鈥� says Mike Heatwole, Pebble鈥檚 head of public affairs. 鈥淲e have the information, and we鈥檙e able to work expeditiously on our end of it, so we鈥檙e not slowing things down, either.鈥�

But to critics, the smaller plan seemed like a bait and switch, aimed at establishing a beachhead for a future larger mine, or even a district of many neighboring mines. The $8.6 million since 2017 seemed further evidence of a politically driven process that felt rushed and wasn鈥檛 inclusive. Native voices, in particular, have felt marginalized throughout.

鈥淔rom the get-go, our voices have been silenced and ignored,鈥� says Alannah Hurley, the executive director of听,听a consortium that represents 15 tribes in the region. 鈥淏ut I don鈥檛 think anyone anticipated the level to which we would be railroaded in this process.鈥� Concerns brought up by Native groups during and after the review process were disregarded听she says, and there are of corps officials and contractors at one village meeting arguing with elders about disputed locations of culturally important sites and subsistence hunting and fishing grounds. 鈥淭hey were literally yelling at tribal leaders,鈥� says Hurley. (A corps spokesman, when asked about the听allegation, declined to comment.)

That brings us to mid-July 2020, when much of the region was preoccupied with a tense, pandemic-tinged, but ultimately successful fishing season鈥�53.5 million salmon returned, and there were no big COVID outbreaks. On July 15, that the Army Corps of Engineers had finished its final draft of the Environmental Impact Statement, the project review that would form the basis for the corps鈥檚听decision to approve or deny Pebble鈥檚 permit. When the was published on July 24, it was a big day for Pebble, the culmination of its post-2017 effort, and it saw vindication. 鈥淔rom the beginning, we dedicated the time, resources, and technical work to ensure we had a project that could be done responsibly,鈥� Collier said in a . 鈥淭he final EIS for Pebble unequivocally shows it can be developed without harming salmon populations.鈥�

A Surprising Turn

Northern Dynasty鈥檚 announcement of the positive EIS sent its stock price climbing for a week, but by the time the EIS was actually published, the price had already peaked and started falling. In fact, there about the company鈥檚 economic fundamentals鈥攁 series of blue-chip mining companies have walked away from their partnerships with Northern Dynasty over the years. Northern Dynasty is a junior mining company, and an undercapitalized one at that, more suited to mineral exploration than full-scale mine development. Without the backing of a major, deep-pocketed company, there鈥檚 no way it could fund a mine-construction process that would cost . 鈥淚ts entire business plan is to get a permit from the corps and use that permit to get an investor,鈥� says the NRDC鈥檚 Reynolds. 鈥淏ut the legitimate part of the industry is not interested.鈥澨�

Meanwhile, the science used to justify the mine, including in the final EIS, is hardly solid. 鈥淭he document is a joke,鈥� says Daniel Schindler, a professor at the University of Washington鈥檚 School of Aquatic and Fishery听Sciences, who has spent 24 summers studying Bristol Bay with the university鈥檚 . 鈥淚t鈥檚 a three-ring circus, where science is basically a shroud behind which they鈥檙e playing politics.鈥� He says the EIS is built on unsupported assumptions and, crucially, understates potential impacts and ignores the fact that refuse from the mine would have the potential to pollute the landscape, not just during the life span of the mine听but forever after.听

These criticisms were largely ignored until the first week of August, when Pebble hit more turbulence, this time from an unexpected source: well-connected Republicans. First came an 听from Nick Ayers, a former Mike Pence chief of staff and an avid fisherman, who said that he, 鈥渓ike millions of conservationists and sportsmen,鈥� hoped the president would direct the EPA to block the mine. An hour later, this was by Donald Trump听Jr., who wrote, 鈥淎s a sportsman who has spent plenty of time in the area I agree 100%. The headwaters of Bristol Bay and the surrounding fishery are too unique and fragile to take any chances with.鈥� It鈥檚 widely known that Trump听Jr. is an avid fisherman, and lodge owners in Bristol Bay who have hosted him have periodically whispered that he might be a useful ally. But nobody expected him to publicly open a rift with his father鈥檚 administration. A slew of celebrity tweets and news coverage followed, many echoing what Jimmy Kimmel said when he became one of the 2,300 or so people to 听Trump听Jr.鈥檚 opinion: 鈥淚 never thought I鈥檇 say this, but @DonaldTrumpJr is right.鈥� When asked by reporters about the tweet, the president said his son 鈥渉as some very strong opinions and he is very much of an environmentalist鈥� and that he would 鈥渓ook at both sides of it,鈥� which was itself a monumental shift.

The hits kept coming. On August 8, Joe Biden came out against Pebble. 鈥淚t鈥檚 no place for a mine,鈥� he said in a . 鈥淭he Obama-Biden administration reached that conclusion when we ran a rigorous, science-based process in 2014, and it is still true today.鈥� More surprisingly, on August 14, Tucker Carlson aired an听 on his Fox News show, featuring Johnny Morris, CEO of Bass Pro Shops, who also spoke out against it. As Carlson noted on air, Pebble is the rare environmental issue that doesn鈥檛 split cleanly along partisan lines. 鈥淪uddenly you are seeing a number of Republicans,鈥� he said, 鈥渋ncluding some prominent ones, including some very conservative ones, saying, 鈥楬old on, maybe Pebble Mine is not a good idea, maybe you should do whatever you can not to despoil nature, and maybe not all environmentalism is about climate.鈥欌�澨�

Would anything come of this? For a moment, it seemed like it. On August 22, Politico posted a story from a D.C.-based reporter headlined 鈥�,鈥� which claimed that early the following week, the administration would move to block the mine, according to six anonymous sources. What emerged two days later in a letter from the corps basically amounted to a request for a more rigorous plan for offsetting the mine鈥檚 impact on the thousands of acres of surrounding wetlands. It wasn鈥檛 nothing: it noted that the mine would cause 鈥渦navoidable adverse impacts鈥� and 鈥渟ignificant degradation,鈥� which was harsher than anything the corps had said before, and it set what observers called a for mitigation. But the company wasn鈥檛 surprised by the letter鈥檚 contents and was already working on a mitigation plan.

To hedge against further confusion, Pebble had been听 on Fox News targeted at an audience of one. 鈥淧resident Trump, continue to stand tall, and don鈥檛 let politics enter the Pebble Mine review process,鈥� said a spot that ran the night of September 16. It seems to have found its mark. At 10:20 P.M., Trump , 鈥淒on鈥檛 worry, wonderful and beautiful Alaska, there will be NO POLITICS in the Pebble Mine Review Process.鈥�

The Sting

On September 21, outlining a set of secret video recordings, known as the , which had been recorded over the previous two months by the , a nonprofit based in Washington, D.C. Posing as overseas investors, EIA operatives captured video calls showing an overconfident Collier and Ron Thiessen, Northern Dynasty鈥檚 equally bullish CEO, saying all the quiet parts out loud: that the actual plan was to eventually mine the entire ore body听rather than the smaller portion proposed, and to do so over the course of perhaps 200 years rather than 20. In their telling, the smaller mine was merely a temporary step to improve their chances of getting a permit.听

Most embarrassing, they made boastful claims about their closeness with and influence over all sorts of politicians and government officials. One person who came up was David Hobbie, director of regulatory affairs for the Alaska District and someone with strong influence over the final EIS. Collier called him 鈥渢he decision maker鈥� and said they met weekly and had become something close to friends. The corps issued a to the EIA鈥檚 recordings, citing 鈥渋naccuracies and falsehoods relating to the permit process and the relationship between our regulatory leadership and the applicant鈥檚 executives.鈥�

The tapes were damning. 鈥淚鈥檝e been at this 40 years, and I鈥檝e never seen this happen to the blatant extent that the tapes reveal,鈥� says the NRDC鈥檚 Reynolds. 鈥淚t鈥檚 a testament to the flaws in our permitting system that it takes a videotape to force people to come to terms with that basic fraud.鈥�

The fallout was swift, and the fall guy was Collier. 鈥淐ollier鈥檚 comments embellished both his and the Pebble Partnership鈥檚 relationships with elected officials and federal representatives in Alaska,鈥� said a announcing Collier鈥檚 resignation. 鈥淭he comments were clearly offensive to these and other political, business, and community leaders in the state, and for this, Northern Dynasty unreservedly apologizes to all Alaskans.鈥澨�

It was a blow to the company, but Thiessen remains in his position. He鈥檚 quoted in the same release saying that he plans to keep advancing the application and expects a decision on the permit this fall.听

For those dedicated to fighting the mine, what the tapes revealed seemed less 鈥渆mbellished鈥� than unvarnished, the true Pebble finally come to light. 鈥淐ollier is one symptom of the much greater problem of this company terrorizing Bristol Bay for almost 20 years now,鈥� says Hurley of the United Tribes of Bristol Bay. 鈥淕etting rid of him does absolutely nothing to rectify the entrenched issues.鈥� To her, the flawed permitting process and alleged political influence taint the process beyond repair. 鈥淎t this point, a permit denial is clearly needed,鈥� she says. 鈥淣obody has faith that鈥檚 going to happen鈥攖he corps hasn鈥檛 changed course or addressed this as a real issue.鈥�

What Comes Next听

Indeed, despite all the drama, the corps has tried to forge ahead, saying little. 鈥淭he District is currently in the deliberative process of making a permit decision,鈥� a spokesman emailed in response to my questions. 鈥淲hile doing so, it is inappropriate for us to comment on opinions, to speculate on potential outcomes of our deliberations in response to media inquiries.鈥�

And though Pebble always seems to be running out of time or money (or both), the company plans to file the mitigation plan that the corps requested before the mid-November deadline, and the corps stands ready to receive it. The final EIS that so many stakeholders see as flawed is still the governing document, and Pebble, for its part, is sticking to its plan. 鈥淭hroughout the course of this project, we鈥檝e hit a lot of potholes or road bumps, and we find a way to keep pressing forward,鈥� says Pebble spokesman Heatwole. 鈥淲e want to get a positive decision from the corps, secure a partner, and get into state permitting. Those are our milestones.鈥�

With any decision almost certain to lead to litigation, there won鈥檛 be any immediate moves, even if the corps does issue a decision this fall. But as the impact of the tapes has rippled outward, the controversy has managed to do something that Alaskans had not been able to: get their two Republican senators, Lisa Murkowski and Dan Sullivan, on the record after years of noncommittal fence-sitting. What that means remains to be seen, but they could help call for congressional investigations. They could also push through the appropriations bill to which the House attached an amendment that would cut off funding for the corps鈥檚 work on Pebble, effectively freezing the permit application. That bill could be taken up by the Senate as soon as December. And if the corps issues a positive final decision on the permit during a potential lame-duck period, the senators could support the EPA in taking steps to block Pebble. (It鈥檚 also worth noting that the Pebble Tapes have become a major issue in Sullivan鈥檚 surprisingly against challenger Al Gross, a Democrat-leaning Independent.)

The lesson of Pebble may be that short-term political solutions are too tenuous to be relied on. 鈥淚t鈥檚 clear we鈥檙e not dealing with agencies acting in the best interests of the American people, or in the way these systems are supposed to be working,鈥� says Hurley. And that may be the biggest takeaway of all: that only in a broken system would regulatory decisions of this magnitude be influenced by a tweet from the president鈥檚 son or a well-placed ad on Fox News, or that they听would require secret videos from eco-spies to get senators to finally take a public stance.

Pebble鈥檚 opponents are hoping that if November 3 goes well for the Democrats,听the EPA will finally听be empowered to find a way to permanently block the mine, whatever decision the corps makes on the permit. 鈥淭his project needs to die definitively,鈥� says Reynolds of the NRDC. His hope is that the EPA will resume its Clean Water Act review in a Biden presidency, but even an EPA veto of the project could, theoretically, be overturned in the future. So for protection that puts Bristol Bay beyond the reach of the shifting political winds, they鈥檒l need to keep working toward a long-term preservation plan for the area. 鈥淚鈥檓 hoping we can put this to bed,鈥� Reynolds says, 鈥渁nd create a political landscape in Alaska that allows Alaskans to decide how to permanently protect the national treasure that is Bristol Bay.鈥�

UPDATE (Oct 29, 2020):听After this article went to press, the EIA revealing the extent to which Northern Dynasty CEO Ron Thiessen, who is still running the company, plays a hands-on role in every aspect of Pebble鈥檚 development, and made statements to EIA鈥檚 investigators that were every bit as outrageous as those made by former Pebble CEO Tom Collier. The new tapes include Thiessen discussing his influence over Alaska鈥檚 senators and pro-Pebble governor, and an assertion that he believes the state of Alaska would contribute roughly $1.5 billion of taxpayer money to assist in building infrastructure for the mine.

UPDATE (Nov听25, 2020): The Army Corps of Engineers decided today听 for the Pebble Mine saying 鈥渋t it does not comply with Clean Water Act guidelines鈥� and calling the project 鈥渃ontrary to the public interest.鈥� This latest twist in the saga will likely kill the proposed extraction project in the short term, but Pebble plans to appeal the decision, and the mine鈥檚 opponents are still hoping that the incoming Biden administration will consider more permanent protection for Bristol Bay.

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Earlier this month, the Trump administration announced a significant overhaul to one of the country’s bedrock environmental laws, the听National Environmental Policy Act, a move that led to outcry among conservation groups across the nation.

“The new rules reduce transparency, prohibit the government from considering climate change in decision making, and essentially allow industry to take the reins,” said Hilary Eisen, policy director at the Winter Wildlands Alliance (WWA).

In response, the WWA joined yesterday with 19 other environmental organizations, including the American Alpine Club, to file a lawsuit against the administration over the new rules.

“The process that led to these changes was a couple years in the making,” Eisen said. “The Trump administration started revising NEPA in 2018. We first tried to effect change though all of the channels outside of legal action before bringing this lawsuit. When the administration opened the changes up for public comment in January of this year, they received over a million comments, most in opposition. There was very little change taken in response to those comments.”

First enacted on January 1, 1970, NEPA听requires federal agencies to consider the environmental effects of proposed governmental actions prior to finalizing decisions. The law also guarantees听opportunities for public review and comment on those decisions.

“This is considered to be the Magna Carta of environmental laws. When you participate in government decisions affecting water quality, for instance, it鈥檚 NEPA that gives you the opportunity to participate. In the pre-NEPA days, there was no transparency in the process, no possibility for the public to participate,” Eisen said.

Eisen went on to say the law is crucial for upholding the environmental standards the U.S. has built over the last 50 years.

“Things were not good in the late ’60s, environmentally. Events like the Cuyahoga River catching on fire were what led to the passage of NEPA in the first place. We don鈥檛 want to go back to that time,” she said.

The lawsuit may take years to resolve, but given the lack of response from the government to other forms of opposition, it’s a crucial step to protect the law in the eyes of the WWA, the American Alpine Club, and other groups fighting to uphold stricter environmental regulations at the federal level.

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An analysis conducted by the Center for American Progress (CAP)听published on May 21听 that the total area of public lands that have already lost protections during Donald Trump鈥檚 presidency, or which his administration is working to reduce protections for, amounts to almost 35 million acres. That鈥檚 nearly the size of the entire state of Florida.听

鈥淧resident Trump is the only president in U.S. history to have removed more public lands than he protected,鈥� reads the analysis.听

Our nation鈥檚 unique system of听public lands are not traditionally a partisan issue: 12.5 million acres of public land were protected during the Reagan administration. George H.W. Bush protected 17.8 million acres. His son protected 3.8 million acres. And, of course, President Obama protected 548 million acres both on land and at sea, 听in history.

Six hundred and forty million acres of land in the United States鈥攁bout 28 percent of our nation鈥檚 total land area鈥攁re owned by the American people and managed on our behalf by the federal government. The foundational principle of that management is called multiple use. Public lands are used for resource extraction, but that extraction must be balanced with ecosystem conservation, recreation, and the need to maintain these lands so that future generations of Americans can continue to make the most of them. Public lands contribute to the federal government鈥檚 bottom line, reducing the amount of taxes all of us must pay to fund our government鈥檚 operation. They support industries like oil, gas, and outdoor recreation, and provide plant and animal biodiversity, helping to protect the environment we live in. In short, these wild places, where we camp, run, hunt, climb, and ride,听contribute to our quality of life.

Our system is utterly unique. No other country has the same amount of public land that we do, nor听anything that approaches our equality of access. This is听why it鈥檚 so galling that, according to the CAP analysis, 鈥淭rump has led the most anti-nature presidency in U.S. history.鈥�

While reducing protections to areas of Bears Ears and Grand Staircase-Escalante National Monuments in听Utah have garnered the most headlines, CAP finds that the Trump administration鈥檚 actions in Alaska have covered a much larger area. In that state, 9.2 million acres of old growth forest, 1.5 million acres of polar bear denning habitat, and 6.5 million acres of migratory bird nesting grounds鈥攖ogether听our country鈥檚 largest areas of unspoiled wilderness鈥攁re being threatened by resource extraction.听

In total, CAP details 19 projects in various states of completion that spread across 12 states. Only current projects听(not simply proposed ones) are included. The administration is also听.听Those active projects include Trump鈥檚 border wall, which has听destroyed 150 miles of the Organ Pipe Cactus National Monument and the Lower Rio Grande Valley National Wildlife Refuge, drilling and mining efforts that impact Minnesota鈥檚 Boundary Waters Canoe Area Wilderness, and mineral extraction in the California Desert Conservation Area, among others.听

CAP鈥檚 assessment does not take into account proposed offshore projects, like the draft-form National Outer Continental Shelf Oil and Gas Leasing Program, which proposes removing protections against oil and gas drilling from a whopping .听

That this scale of degradation to our nation鈥檚 natural heritage has taken place in less than a single presidential term is incredibly concerning. Our public lands are a finite resource that, once destroyed, are gone forever. So, here鈥檚 another comparison that hopefully puts the scale of this attack in context: Trump has already removed protections from 16.6 times the amount of land that Theodore Roosevelt managed to protect . Roosevelt鈥檚 legacy has survived for more than a century. How long will Trump鈥檚 last?听

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In the outdoor industry, Patagonia has always been among the more vocal brands听opposing the Trump Administration鈥檚 effort to roll back environmental protections and undermine public lands. Now, the iconic outdoor company has teamed up with another industry giant, Columbia Sportswear, to throw their support behind an effort to prevent the Environmental Protection Agency听(EPA)听from gutting regulations that would reduce greenhouse gas emissions. For both companies, it鈥檚 not only the right thing to do for the planet, it鈥檚 also good business.听

Last month, the two gear manufacturers joined forces to file an , a legal document advising a court of additional considerations in a pending case, in support of a lawsuit by health and environmental groups challenging the EPA鈥檚 decision last year to overturn the 2015 Clean Power Plan (CPP) and replace it with the weaker Affordable Clean Energy (ACE) rule. Their brief asks the court to weigh the damaging impact the rule change will have on the $887 billion outdoor industry.听

The ACE is a boon for the coal industry in that it curbs the CPP鈥檚 ambitious targets to reduce carbon emissions from power plants, the 听of greenhouse gases in the United States. The new rule could potentially , and by , ACE could lead to thousands more premature deaths every year along with a jump in the number of people experiencing respiratory disease.听

The suit itself was filed by the American Lung Association and the American Public Health Association in July 2019. It asks the court to invalidate the new rule on the basis that it does not fit with the EPA鈥檚 mandate to protect public health under the Clean Air Act of 1970. The case is before the U.S. Court of Appeals in Washington, DC. Climate scientists, health groups, and religious organizations also filed amicus briefs in support of the plaintiffs ahead of last Friday鈥檚 deadline.听

Patagonia began considering an array of options to join the effort before deciding the amicus brief would be their best route, said Avi Garbow, the company鈥檚 environmental advocate and the former EPA general counsel during the Obama Administration. But they weren鈥檛 going to do it alone.听听

鈥淲e also thought there would be strength in numbers, figuring out a way of pairing two giants of the outdoor industry to present the viewpoint of the outdoor industry and the private sector would really bolster our case and be very helpful to the court,鈥� said Garbow. 鈥淲e were delighted to partner with Columbia and proceed as a duo.鈥澨�

The companies are no strangers to cooperation, but that鈥檚 typically been limited to manufacturing issues like sustainability and product regulations, explained Abel Navarrete, Columbia鈥檚 vice president for corporate responsibility. And even for two brands that have been active in the political space听before, it may seem like a big leap to throw their weight behind a court case like this one. But the issue of climate change is a direct existential threat to their business and the larger outdoor recreation industry,听which supports nearly 8 million jobs in the United States.听

鈥淚t鈥檚 not new to have businesses weighing in on big court cases. It鈥檚 a little bit new to have them weighing in on the side of the environment and planet,鈥� said Garbow. 鈥淚f we鈥檙e not going to use our voice, our community, and our resources to deal with one of the greatest crises that we face, then we鈥檙e not living up to the mission of the company.鈥澨�

As relaxed emissions standards hasten the pace of global warming, it threatens to destroy outdoor spaces and limit people鈥檚 ability to recreate outside. Ultimately, , that means fewer opportunities for people to get outdoors, which in turn leads to less money spent on clothing and gear and in recreation-dependent communities.听听

鈥淎s we like to say here, when we wade into a swamp it鈥檚 to test our products, but there are some things that are just that compelling that you have to,鈥� said Peter Bragdon, Columbia鈥檚 executive vice president, chief administrative officer, and general counsel. 鈥淭he brief tells the perfect story of what we鈥檙e trying to protect here鈥攊t鈥檚 the consumers, the special places, rural communities. It鈥檚 really remarkable that it was ignored by this administration.鈥澨�

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Welcome to听Tough Love. Every other week, we鈥檙e answering your questions about dating, breakups, and everything in between. Our advice giver is Blair Braverman, dogsled racer and author of听. Have a question of your own? Write to us at听toughlove@outsideim.com.

I have an incredibly close relationship with my family. I came out as gay a couple of years ago and they were warm and welcoming. I moved abroad about a year after coming out and met my now fianc茅e. My parents have always been amazing to her and love her very much. They treat her like she is family.

They voted for Trump. I don鈥檛 like it, but I also believe that everyone is entitled to their own opinion. We鈥檝e not really dwelled on our differing political opinions and over the past three years I鈥檝e mostly used humor to cover up the real horror stories that lie beneath the surface.听

My fianc茅e听and I live in Germany. That means I get free healthcare (which is incredible because I have an autoimmune disease). My fianc茅e听is German, so it makes sense to stay here for now, but we also like to think of the future. I have been researching American policies on visas for same-sex partners. It seems that as long as Trump or anyone who follows his type of administration is in office, my fianc茅e听and I will not be legally allowed to move back to the United States as long as we want to stay together.

Recently my mom and I were having our weekly FaceTime session and I was wearing an Elizabeth Warren shirt. She joked that I wore the shirt to spite her, then started nagging me about Trump. I got brave and told her that I wouldn鈥檛 ever be able to move back to America as long as he was in office because they were rejecting everyone and听my fianc茅e听likely wouldn鈥檛 get a visa,听and she said, 鈥渨ell, that鈥檚 the lesser of two evils.鈥� And it shocked me. It hurt me. Deeply. My mother is an educated woman. She鈥檚 smart, witty, and she鈥檚 aways taught me and my sister that we can do anything we set our mind to. She鈥檚 an educator and has championed for the underdog. My dad is the same way. He鈥檇 give the shirt off his back to anyone who needed it. So I don鈥檛 get this mindset. I truly don鈥檛.

What advice do you have for someone who loves their family tremendously, gets all the love and support in the world from them, until it comes to Donald Trump and they鈥檇 choose me, my fianc茅e, and our future family living on the other side of the world as the lesser of two evils?

What is this apocryphal greater evil? What left-wing agenda could your parents possibly believe is more damaging than forcing their own daughter to either live a continent away from her beloved family or to be separated from her wife and, possibly, her future children? Seriously, what is worse than that? The people we love, the lives we love, are the point of everything. Even the most sensitive right-wing issues, like gun access and closed borders, are framed鈥攊n theory, at least鈥攁round the idea of being able to protect one鈥檚 family, and yet your mom is rejecting that very value. That you鈥檝e managed for so long to maintain your close relationship without confrontation speaks wonders to both your compartmentalization skills and to your ability to absorb pain and fear out听of respect for your loved ones, something that your parents seem completely unwilling to do.

First things first: you should speak with an American immigration lawyer immediately. As you know, legal immigration has become听 over the past few years, with at sky-high rates. As of 2015, married couples should have equal immigration rights regardless of gender; but Trump has been protections for LGBTQ people, including visa rights for . I don't know the details of your situation, but you may be able to take precautions, or jump through certain hoops, in order to maintain your and your fianc茅e鈥檚 options down the line. Don鈥檛 wait for your parents鈥� support; don鈥檛 count on a new administration; plan for the worst and be ready to act fast if need be.

Now, back to your parents.

Here鈥檚 the thing: Voting听is not symbolic. It鈥檚 not a gesture. It is a tangible step toward putting a candidate鈥檚 policies into action, and it makes you, as a citizen, responsible for the effects of those policies. If your father would give the shirt off his back to anyone who needs it, but his vote supports , then he would not, in fact, give the shirt off his back to anyone who needs it. If your mom is a champion for the underdog who supports an administration that , then,听in fact,听she is a champion for the powerful and cruel. And not only have your parents stood by these choices, but,听in the face of their own child facing consequences from the same administration, they鈥檙e doubling down.

Parent-child relationships have been severed over far less, and you would be fully entitled, as a human with both practical and emotional needs, to turn your back on a family that has鈥攜es, in very real ways鈥攖urned its back on you. But it sounds like that鈥檚 not what you want. And while I have no sympathy for your parents in this scenario, I have all the sympathy in the world for you, and I don鈥檛 want your family of origin, whom you so clearly love and respect, to be yet another thing stolen from you by this administration.

I suspect you wore your Warren shirt on purpose, at least on some level, because you can鈥檛 keep hiding your reality from your parents. They want you to seem okay because it lets them off the hook, but they don鈥檛 actually care enough about you being okay to reevaluate their politics. They鈥檝e put you in a terrible position, and it鈥檚 time to lay everything on the table.

It might be tempting to confront their position with a logical, politically-sound case, but I suspect that your most effective strategy here, if you want your parents to step up and act like parents, is to speak to them not as a fellow citizen but as a daughter. People can argue with statistics, but they can鈥檛 argue with stories, and it鈥檚 time for your parents to face yours. You could choose to either speak with them or write a letter. Depending on your sister鈥檚 politics, you might ask her鈥攐r your fianc茅e鈥攖o be another beloved face in the room (or on the Skype screen), holding your parents accountable to the story in front of them.

Tell your parents how you feel. Speak to the parts of them that you grew up admiring, the compassion and generosity that they raised you to uphold. Tell them how much it means to you that they鈥檝e embraced your fianc茅e, but that that embrace feels shallow if they won鈥檛 take a stand to protect your rights. Tell them how you dream of your future kids growing up close to their grandparents, singing along with your mom鈥檚 guitar and making your dad鈥檚 famous spaghetti sauce, and you鈥檙e scared that they鈥檒l never get the chance鈥攖hat you鈥檒l never get that chance together. Ask them for help finding ways to live on the same continent. If you want to beg, beg. This is what you want from life. This is what you need from them. This is what it means, what it takes, for them to love you.

And then give them some space. Let them know that you will not be reaching out again until they have sat with your situation, with the gravity of your fear, and have decided how they want to respond.

Maybe compassion will win, and they鈥檒l begin to understand. It won鈥檛 be fast, but deep change rarely is.听

If not, if they still believe that their daughter鈥檚 suffering is a lesser evil, then your relationship is going to look different. It鈥檚 up to you to determine an amount of contact with them that builds up your life rather than erodes it; that might mean you choose to maintain regular Skype dates, or it might mean taking a step back and focusing instead on the loved ones who support you. Either way, you need to stop covering up, as you put it, the real horror stories. It鈥檚 not your job to pretend to be okay.

Whatever happens鈥攁nd I hope for you, with my whole heart, that your parents come around鈥攜our relationship with them will finally be honest. It鈥檚 the least you deserve, the least any child deserves. I hope you get all you deserve and more.

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On Sunday, while Southern California鈥檚 wildland firefighters dug line on the 10,000-acre Maria Fire and residents returned to their homes following mandatory evacuations, President Trump exercised his thumbs.听

Gavin Newsom, the new Democratic governor of California, was quick to respond. 鈥淵ou don鈥檛 believe in climate change. You are excused from this conversation,鈥� Newsome . Later, his office released a longer : 鈥淲e鈥檙e successfully waging war against thousands of fires started across the state in the last few weeks due to extreme weather created by climate change while Trump is conducting a full on assault against the antidotes.鈥�

Fire season in Southern California is just beginning. The crucible of heat, dryness, and extreme winds that sparked hundreds of fires over the course of weeks is likely to continue through December. According to the latest National Interagency Coordination Center鈥檚 , the causes are above-normal temperatures; decreased rainfall; strong winds whipped up by a 鈥渉ighly amplified鈥� stationary pressure ridge; and higher sea surface temperatures over the Pacific Ocean. Warm the planet and California will burn.

The roots of California鈥檚 ongoing struggles听with wildfire are enormously complex, even when they鈥檙e not politicized in a 140-word tweetstorm. People spend their lives studying these issues in order to understand them, and to explain them accurately to average Americans. I asked forestry scientists, environmental engineers, and emergency management experts to help fact check the President鈥檚 tweets. (The Department of the Interior could not be reached for comment.)

“The Governor of California, @GavinNewsom, has done a terrible job of forest management”听

Purely , California has fared better against wildfires during Newsom鈥檚 first year in office than it has for the past several years. In 2019, the California Department of Forestry and Fire Protection听has responded to 6,190 fires that have burned 198,392 acres across the state. By this time last year, 5,355 fires had burned 632,701 acres, an area roughly the size of Rhode Island. The five-year average from January 1 to November 3 has been 5,382 fires burning 373,576 acres.

, three people have been killed by wildfires, and 22 have been injured. In 2018, perhaps the worst fire year on record, 93 people died; at least 80 people were injured. Still, the worst may听be yet to come in 2019.

In March 2019, , months before wildfire season started. In October, that fund and improve 鈥渨ildfire prevention, mitigation, and response,鈥� and pledged $21 billion to help update utilities that have sparked some of the state鈥檚 largest fires. He even for its role in helping fight the largest wildfires in the state.

Still, Newsom is just part of the bigger picture. 鈥淢ost of the forests in California are owned by the federal government,鈥� said , a professor of forest ecology at the University of Washington. 鈥淭he state controls a relatively small amount of land. The governor has nothing to do with how those federal lands are managed.鈥�

Indeed, 57 percent of California鈥檚 33 million acres is managed by the federal government. , the total acreage burned in the state was almost perfectly split: 124,280 acres burned were federal, 126,069 were state.听

“I told him from the first day we met that he must 'clean' his forest floors regardless of what his bosses, the environmentalists, DEMAND of him. Must also do burns and cut fire stoppers.”听

Trump鈥檚 talking about his widely panned after the 2018 Paradise fire to 鈥渢ake care of the floors of the forest鈥� and to start 鈥渞aking and cleaning and doing things鈥� in order to prevent more fires.

鈥淭rump got it partly right,鈥� said Timothy Ingalsbee, a former wildland firefighter with a P.h.D. in environmental sociology and the founder of听, a fire policy advocacy group. 鈥淢uch of the problem stems from past fire exclusion鈥濃�攏ot letting natural fires burn鈥斺�渁nd excess dead and down fuel.鈥� Allowing fires to burn naturally, the idea goes, will eliminate excess fuel and keep fires from burning larger and hotter.

However, in Germany and several other nations that tried this extensive 鈥渃leaning鈥� technique in the past, the massive amounts of work to literally cart away dead limbs throughout a forest wasn鈥檛 sustainable. Beside the enormous effort and cost, the Germans 鈥渞ealized they were just carting away all the nutrients the forest needed,鈥� Ingalsbee said.

Peterson noted that federal budgets are so small for the American version of this type of thing鈥攔emoving surface fuels via controlled burns and thinning dense forests via logging so that fires can鈥檛 reach their crown鈥攖hat only 10 to 15 percent of lands that need it get it. 鈥淚t鈥檚 the elephant in the room. We know what we need to do, and that it works. But we just don鈥檛 have the money.鈥�

Both Ingalsbee and Peterson also noted that many of California鈥檚 worst fires have burned in brushy grassland, not forests.

鈥淎s for the environmentalists,鈥� said Ingalsbee, 鈥淚鈥檇 hardly say that we鈥檙e his bosses. In fact, we have a real hard time getting any of our demands implemented.鈥�

“Every year, as the fire鈥檚 rage & California burns, it is the same thing-and then he comes to the Federal Government for $$$ help.”听

In 2017, California fighting wildfires; 2018 cost even more. The federal government refunds up to 75 percent of firefighting funds for the largest fires. ( about a year ago that he would pull funding to California鈥檚 wildfire problem if they didn鈥檛 鈥渞emedy鈥� their 鈥減oor鈥� forest management.) This year, the Trump administration has made federal funds available to help fight several of California鈥檚 biggest fires. Trump appears to also be talking about Federal Emergency Management Aid disaster recovery funding; early in 2019, in grants to help Californians affected by wildfire.听

Last year, Congress passed a spending bill authorizing upwards of $2 billion in suppression funds to be used fighting wildfires, and which allows the Forest Service to tap into FEMA funds to fight fires. This sounds like progress. But maybe not. 鈥淚t鈥檚 a huge waste of money in my opinion,鈥� said Ingalsbee. 鈥淏etter to spend that money on preventing burning, or helping people recover from burning. Hurling firefighters into the maw of these climate-driven wildfires is just burning cash. At some point the well will run dry.鈥�

“No more.”听

Though Trump has made it before, this is a serious threat. The ecosystem of emergency preparedness, response, and recovery for fires in California鈥攍ike in many other states鈥攊s organized around federal funding. Local, county, and state governments rely on federal funding to save the day when things get especially bad. It鈥檚 unclear whether Trump can legally turn the money faucet off. But if he does, losing federal funding would be devastating.

鈥淚n order to punish Gavin Newsom and Democratic policies, Trump is punishing the whole state,鈥� said Ingalsbee. 鈥淭hat鈥檚 90 million citizens. And this is not just a California thing. It鈥檚 a national mobilization. The impacts will ripple out across the West, across the rest of the nation.鈥�

“You don鈥檛 see close to the level of burn in other states.”听

鈥淭hat鈥檚 not true at all,鈥� said Ingalsbee. 鈥淚t鈥檚 true that California fires cause tremendous social costs. Homes burned, civilians killed. But we鈥檙e seeing very large fires all across the West.鈥�

By October 1, had burned in Alaska in 2019, dwarfing California鈥檚 wildfire acreage.听

Last year, California had by far the most acres burned, according to the , with 1.8 million acres burned. But other states also endured massive fires. In Idaho, 600,000 acres burned; nearly 500,000 burned in Colorado; 410,000 burned in Alaska.

California is unique among those states because of its Mediterranean climate鈥攊t鈥檚 extremely dry in the summer, and especially fire prone. 鈥淭hat has nothing to do with how its lands are managed,鈥� Peterson said. 鈥淭he fires are totally dependent on extreme weather events that occur.鈥�

鈥淎lso, open up the ridiculously closed water lanes coming down from the North. Don鈥檛 pour it out into the Pacific Ocean. Should be done immediately. California desperately needs water, and you can have it now!鈥�

鈥淭hese fires are not caused or exacerbated by the operation of the large water systems,鈥� said , a professor of civil and environmental engineering at UC Davis. 鈥淎nd firefighters have not had a shortage of water.鈥�

鈥淩ivers have absolutely nothing to do with wildfires,鈥� confirmed Peterson. 鈥淲ildfires have to do with three factors: sufficient flammable fuels, hot dry weather, and an ignition source.“

鈥淗ere鈥檚 what everyone needs to know: wherever people live in fire-prone areas, they need to learn how to live with fire. There鈥檚 no easy fix here. We have to make communities more fire safe, and have evacuation plans, and we need to have structures that are resistant to fire. This is not something the government is going to save people from.鈥�

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At the end of his 50-minute, flyover-filled Fourth of July speech on Thursday, President Donald Trump offered a thank you to the National Park Service. He owed them one. Some $2.5 million of the total cost of the unprecedented event, Tuesday, had been diverted directly from National Park funding. (The Department of the Interior has not responded to 国产吃瓜黑料's听request听for more information.)

Specifically,听the听Post reported that the money was diverted from park fees, which go straight from your wallet to the National Park Service. Parks get to keep around 80 percent of this money, which is estimated to amount to around $310 million in 2019, and tend to use it for maintenance projects, visitor services, and habitat restoration. that the siphoned funds were likely to be taken from the Washington Mall, or smaller parks around the country鈥攖hough they also reported that 鈥渁t one point, Interior officials raised the idea of taking money from sites located in liberal communities such as San Francisco鈥檚 Golden Gate National Recreation Area.鈥澨�

Trump swiping the National Parks鈥� lunch money for his party is听particularly hard to swallow听given that his administration has already proposed severe cuts to the department's budget鈥攂y figures approaching a half a billion dollars in both their 2019 and 2020 proposals. (Neither proposed budget has been approved by Congress.) It鈥檚 even more troubling when you consider the backlog of nearly $12 billion in necessary maintenance, which includes听$3.5 billion needed for 鈥渃ritical鈥� repairs to keep bathrooms, trails, and campgrounds running. The $2.5 million price tag of the July 4th听celebration is compounded by the听loss of an estimated $6 million in National听Park entry fees during the government shutdown earlier this year.

鈥淭he cost of our great salute to America tomorrow will be very little compared to what it is worth,鈥� Trump tweeted out Wednesday. Which raises the question: what is $2.5 million worth to our National Parks?

鈥淭wo and a half million might seem like nothing, but…you鈥檙e looking at very significant dollars that are not available for parks to maintain themselves,鈥� said Theresa Pierno, the president and CEO of the National Parks Conservation听Association (NPCA), a nonpartisan, nongovernmental organization that advocates on behalf of the National Parks. 鈥淲ithin the [National Parks] budget there are an enormous number of projects that $2.5 million could鈥檝e taken care of.鈥�

For context, here are a few projects from the National Parks鈥櫶齪roposed 2020 budget that each cost around $2.5 million:

Law Enforcement Training ($830,000)听

This new funding aims to mitigate a basic training backlog that keeps around 200 rangers sidelined annually as they wait for foundational law enforcement training. The July 4th budget diversion could fund this training three times over.

Funding Interpretive and Educational Projects ($1.3 Million)听

Interpretive and educational programs consistently rank near the top of both park planning needs and user-generated feedback for National Parks. Funding is proposed to be cut by $500,000 from 2019 to 2020.

Paying Postage Costs ($2.8 Million)听

It鈥檚 not as badass as an Air Force听flyover. But it keeps the National Parks running.听

The Volunteers in Parks Program ($2.9 Million)听

The annual volunteer force at National Parks provides over seven million hours of work, valued at over $170 million, on a budget that costs the NPS just $400,000 more than a July 4th party.

The 鈥淎ctive Forest Management鈥� Budget ($4 Million)听

Four million dollars is earmarked for this program in 2020, which the NPS says is 鈥渘ecessary to reduce the wildfire risk to NPS infrastructure and assets, increasing the safety of firefighters and the public, and minimizing the impacts to park operations, visitor experiences and gateway communities.鈥� that 2020 could be an especially bad fire year.听

Upgrading and Maintaining the Electrical and Telecommunications Grid in Olympic National Park ($690,000), Renovating 26 Campgrounds in Yosemite ($800,000), and Rehabilitating the Visitor鈥檚 Center at the John F. Kennedy National Historic Site ($853,000)

With a couple hundred thousand dollars to spare. 鈥淭hese are projects that repair park facilities that will last for decades,鈥� said John Gardner, senior director of budget and appropriations at the NPCA. 鈥淚nstead it鈥檚 being used for one night of pageantry.”

Then there are the programs that the 2020 budget proposes cutting entirely鈥攕ome of which the $2.5 million diversion could fund or partially fund. This includes four major cultural grant programs: the Native American Graves Protection & Repatriation grants ($1.6 million), Japanese American Confinement Site grants ($2.9 million), American Battlefield Protection Program Assistance grants ($1.2 million), and American Indian and Native Hawaiian Art and Culture grants ($500,000).听

Trump鈥檚 celebration may yet cost the Department of the Interior more money still. The NPCA, along with Democracy Now, is into the use of National Parks funds, which they say is illegal according to the Federal Lands Recreation Enhancement Act. Tom Udall, the Senator from New Mexico who is also the top Democrat on the Senate Appropriations subcommittee on the interior, environment, and related agencies,听 Tuesday after failing to receive a response from the Department of the Interior about a request for more information on the July 4th spending.

鈥淎ll reports indicate that the president is planning to turn a national day of unity into a day of vanity鈥攖rying to use the military for political purposes and doling out perks to his political backers鈥攁t the taxpayers鈥� expense,鈥� Udall wrote. 鈥淲e need answers.鈥�

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On January 25, the last day of the government shutdown听as politicians played a game of tug-o-war over President Trump鈥檚 demand for a border wall, Corbin Kunst was on a听rope strung between Mexico and the United States. The 27-year-old ropes-course technician from Petaluma, California, balanced听on a slackline connecting Big Bend National Park with the Mexican Parque Nacional Ca帽on de Santa Elena, hundreds of feet above the Rio Grande. His friend, 26-year-old Bend, Oregon-based filmmaker Kylor Melton, directed the filming of this feat. On Monday, the听team released this footage, a听trailer for a longer film about the highline to come out soon.

In addition to Kunst and Melton, the team included several other Americans and Mexican nationals, including one more slackliner, Jamie Marrufo, who also completed the walk between听the two countries. We had questions about the project, so we caught up with the young duo.听

OUTSIDE: Why slackline the border and why now?
CORBIN KUNST: I first saw a picture of the canyon, Santa Elena, a couple of years ago actually, and it was always kind of a pipe dream. I thought, “How cool would it be to break this epic highline over the Rio Grande and it connecting two countries?”听From the beginning the idea was to always have a Mexican team and a U.S. team working together and have that harmony鈥攈ave it be this symbol of trust. When you rig a highline, you're literally putting your life in your team鈥檚 hands. I always thought that would be really beautiful, simple, and a really powerful project. As things developed in our current times鈥攖ension with Mexico politically going as far as it鈥檚 gone鈥擨 told my idea to Kylor.

KYLOR MELTON: This was like three weeks ago. Corbin hit me up with this idea and was like, “Hey, I have this super distant idea that I'm thinking about doing.” And I was like, “Bro, can you be at my house tomorrow?”

What went into making this idea come to life? What were the logistics?
CK: The Mexican team rigged their anchor and we rigged our anchor and it was completely up to them. I know everyone on the Mexican team, and I helped form that team. I already had trust in them鈥擨 knew that they knew what they were doing. No one had to guide them or guide us. We just kind of split up and worked together, which is really cool.

So, we threw a tagline, which is just a thin piece of paracord, and strung each side down into the river and a team member connected the two lines at the river. That tagline goes up and then the actual slackline is fed across that. I think that trust is a very powerful message. It about us coming together, working together, on all those levels.

KM: The trust is inherent. The message is that we wanted to come together. Be two groups of people coming together to accomplish and stand for what they believe.

Who was the group comprised of?
KM: Our team consisted of friends. We had a small group鈥擨 think there was five of us on our side.

CK: Including filmmakers.

KM: So our side was pretty small. The Mexican side was something like six people. From all across Mexico, Chihuahua, Mexico City 鈥�

CK: … Monterrey …

KM: … There was like a really diverse group of friends there. We had a filmmaker on the Mexican side that was helping document that part of the story.

Can you give us some specs on this line? How long was it? How far from the canyon floor? What long did it take to walk across?
KM: So our laser pro-pointer broke somehow, but, if we had to gauge, about 100 meters long.

CK: We're estimating that we were about 400-plus feet from the canyon floor. This wasn't your average slackline walk because we were filming, but if we were just walking across it, it only takes a few minutes.

KM: It鈥檚 like a 100 meters, so you could walk that in 45 seconds. Not on the highline, like on the ground鈥攈ighlining takes a little bit longer. But they crushed this line. I don't even think they fell. I mean they fell like once or twice.

They fell? How does that work?
CK: Highlining is actually a very safe sport鈥攚e were always tethered to the line. Just like in rock climbing鈥攈ow most people are using protection, very few people in the sport free solo鈥攊t鈥檚 the same thing in slacklining. So free soloing is not what highlining is all about. Most the time when we highline, we're tethered.

So what were you thinking about in the middle of that line, in the middle of performing this stunt?
CK: I don't like thinking of it as a stunt. It was much more than that. I mean for me it was the most important slackline I have ever walked. It had so much power in it. That so many people came together and wanted to do this idea with me. The idea wouldn't have gone anywhere unless people also felt that this was a powerful message. So, for me, as I was walking the line, that's what was going on in my head the whole time. Everything in my whole life had led up to that point of people trusting me and trusting this idea and believing in it enough to actually show up and do this. After I finished, I was pretty blitzed out. I was ecstatic.

It looks like this project was filmed with a drone. Did you have permits to use the drone in the national park?
KM: You only need permits to film in the park if your doing a commercial shoot and by all standards this is a passion project, right now. So we didn't have a permit, and the government was shut down so even if we tried to get a permit, we wouldn't get one because there were no resources to accept, acknowledge, or give us a permit. Also, the drone itself was all flown from the Mexican side. It's an interesting area. The government says as long as you鈥檙e outside the park boundaries, they don't have any control. So you can be on the border and fly into a national park.

How do you respond to skeptics that say the highline, politics aside, was illegal and could have unnecessarily put park rangers in danger if tasked to perform a rescue?
CK: We did everything, to our knowledge, legally. The fact that the Mexican team rigged their own anchors, we rigged our anchors, we floated down the river with a river permit. Everyone that goes down the river is basically taking the same risk as we were. We were on a river trip. We did the slackline. All of us are proficient riggers and I talked to a lot of lawyers, attorneys, before the project to make sure we were actually doing everything legally.

KM: It may not be perceived as safe鈥攜ou hundreds of feet up, dangling on a wire鈥攂ut there's actually very few injuries, deaths or anything like that in highlining.

CK: On the U.S. side, we were not allowed to bolt.

KM: Bolting meaning drilling hole鈥�

CK: … And put a bolt in and a hanger and rig off those bolts, which is very common in rock climbing and slacklining.

KM: But we did not do that.

CK: We respected the park's rules by rigging it naturally. So I just literally slung massive boulders with a rope. In that way, we were trying to do our due diligence of respecting the park's rules. They bolted on the Mexican side and there's no rules against that in the Santa Elena National Park.

KM: In every way we respected the laws and regulations. This isn't about disrespecting those laws, this isn't about fighting a war with Trump, this is about people coming together. These people from different lands to tell a story of bringing people together rather than separating us with that fear-based division mindset.

Okay, so what鈥檚 the next move and when will the movie be out?
KM: That鈥檚 a good question. Right now I am deep, deep in the editing cave cranking away at it. I鈥檓 doing everything in my power to essentially channel energy behind this idea, to get eyes on it, and to begin to have people care about it. I'm hoping I鈥檒l have this film ready very soon.

Anything else to add?
CK: Something that I would like to add is we also want to give voice to our Mexican friends, who were the whole other half of the team. The more and more that we reveal of this story, the more it's going to be in Spanish. We want that perspective shown too. We want this to inspire people and be a catalyst for conversation about bringing people together. I know people are going to start getting political and being like, “Oh, why are you trying to divide us? Why are you trying to put out a political video? Why are you trying to polarize us?”听And I really want to bring it back to the fact that this was was a Mexican team consenting with an American team to come together to be one team. This is us being a symbol and connecting, and learning about each other, having a cultural exchange using our passion of slacklining as that medium. We want to show others, “What are you doing with your life to build bridges?鈥�

For updates on the project, sign up for a newsletter on .

This interview has been edited for clarity.听

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