Alaska’s d(2) battle

In October 1976, the Alaska Miners Association (AMA) held its first statewide convention in Anchorage to discuss, among other things, a federal government proposal to withdraw up to 80 million acres of land for “conservation” purposes. Because of the scarcity of rich mineral resources and their small geographic footprint, AMA was confident mining would be respected in the land withdrawal, which was tied to the 1971 settlement of native land claims — so confident that it invited Jack Hession, the leader of the Alaska branch of the Sierra Club, to address the convention’s theme, The place of mining in Alaska’s future.

Hession bluntly told miners that there was little or no future for mining in Alaska, because of H.R. 39, a conservation bill that envisioned a land withdrawal far beyond what was initially proposed. Environmental groups had helped craft the bill and were confident it would be passed by Congress the following spring. In fact, Hession was so confident that he used the opportunity to deliver mining’s eulogy in Alaska.

The miners were stunned, but not for long. Knowing their political clout was limited, they reached out to other groups that understood what was at stake in what became known as the d(2) lands debate. And so was born Citizens for the Management of Alaska Lands (CMAL), which comprised natives, labour unions, loggers, oilmen, trappers and hunters, and numerous individuals. Evironmentalists were surprised by the inclusion of natives, whom they had courted for years. But many natives rejected the subsistence-only future advocated by these groups, and, instead, threw their support behind CMAL.

By the time spring rolled around, CMAL had 5,800 individual members and more than 200 corporate members, and was eager to make its presence known at a series of congressional hearings in the Lower 48. But it underestimated the bill’s backers, who stacked the hearings with bused-in college students. CMAL learned fast and was able to deliver its message in several cities. Its best showing was in Washington, D.C., where the hearings were balanced, much to the annoyance of environmentalists. And, miracle of miracles, H.R. 39 failed to pass in 1978. It was a stunning victory for CMAL and its supporters, who believed it was also a victory for Alaska.

The celebrations didn’t last long. President Jimmy Carter, egged on by environmental groups, used an obscure law called the Antiquities Act of 1906 to declare much of Alaska a National Monument. The act was designed to protect small tracts of land containing burial sites and the like, yet it was used to lock up almost one-third of Alaska! There was no debate and no mercy. (This gross abuse of executive power was later used by the Clinton-Gore administration to set aside wilderness areas in the Lower 48.)

Alaskans tried to seek legislation to fight the designation but — in the words of one participant — were only able to negotiate the size of the truck that would run over them. And run over them it did. Resource industries and the Bureau of Land Management (BLM) were asked to help identify geologically favourable areas so they could be excluded from the land withdrawal. But in many cases, the boundaries were moved to include these areas! One geologist was shocked to receive a certificate of commendation for “excellent work” in helping identify high-potential mineral lands that ended up in the land withdrawal. He threw it in the Anchorage landfill!

In late 1980, after two more years of fruitless battle, the Alaska National Interest Lands Conservation Act (ANILCA) was signed into law by Carter. He left office 45 days later, seemingly not bothered that his beloved law was opposed by a vast majority of Alaskans.

To be fair, ANILCA had “provisions” which allowed a wide range of activities to continue on the conserved lands, or on private lands surrounded by them. Alaskans were promised that valid existing rights would be protected, that existing access would continue and new access would be available when needed, that the mineral potential of the state would continue to be assessed by the federal government, and that “no more” land in Alaska would be considered for set-aside designations.

That’s how Alaskans lost the effort to keep strategic multiple-use lands open for their present and future needs. But being pragmatic souls, they tried to make the best of what was left after the d(2) dust settled. They believed that if they played by the rules, and if the government honoured its promises, the new law could work.

Well, they played by the rules, but the U.S. government and environmental groups didn’t. All the promises were broken, repeatedly, outrageously and deliberately. Having documented these broken promises over a period of twenty years, Alaskans are now ready to tell the world of their d(2) betrayal.

Next week: Alaska, 20 years later.