The Great Scramble for the Last Scraps of Nevada

There ain’t a spot of land in this stat

e that some bureaucrat or businessperson doesn’t have an eye on, and if there’s a way to wrangle it loose, rest assured there’s a feller in a fine suit with a pen at the ready. Tuesday marked the Trump administration’s deadline to reconsider the boundaries of various national monuments, a task that involves poking and prodding at millions of acres of native land here in Nevada, looking for anything worth digging up, burning down, or hauling away for profit.

The University of Nevada, Reno’s Office of Indigenous Relations counts 21 federally recognized tribes in the state, stewarding over 1.6 million acres of tribal land. But there’s a chance some of those acres may soon have less to steward.

Not everyone likes the idea of a “review.” Nevada’s Congressional Democrats put pen to paper in protest, but it’s the local tribal groups that have raised the most ruckus, and rightly so.

Mathilda Guerrero Miller, a voice for Indigenous advocacy, did not mince words, calling the review “a corrupt, coordinated land grab” meant to turn public lands into private fortunes. One can hardly blame her for the sentiment.

After all, President Trump’s previous trimming of two national monuments in Utah set a precedent that has Nevada tribes eyeing their lands with no small amount of dread. It includes Avi Kwa Ame and Gold Butte in southern Nevada, which have been under the care of native peoples for longer than the United States has existed.

“These are the lands and the things that my ancestors have taken care of since time immemorial,” said Guerrero Miller. “Tribal nations are actively paying attention. Community members are actively paying attention, and they’re angry.”

As if the stew needed another spoon stirring it, Nevada Governor Joe Lombardo has tossed his request into the fray, petitioning state legislative leaders to pry loose more of Nevada’s federally held lands for housing. Of course, in a state where the federal government owns 87 percent of the sand, one might argue the land is already well and spoken for. But there’s always a way to shift things around if the right people want it bad enough.

And so the old game continues–land stolen once might as well get stolen again, parceled off in neat little squares to whoever’s got the fattest purse and the best lawyers. The people who have cared for it the longest, well—they’ve seen this before.

And if history is any teacher, they’ll be the only ones still here long after the boom and bust have run their course.