The Wilds Project.

A follow-up to “This Land Was Your Land”

Let’s break this down like we’re five—because apparently some people still don’t get it.

Tucked inside a giant budget bill was a plan to sell off 3.3 million acres of public land. Not lease it. Not manage it differently. Sell it.

We’re talking BLM land. Forest Service land. The wide-open, wild in-between places. Not national parks, not developed spaces. Land that connects it all. Land we camp on. Hunt on. Hike through. Land that belongs to all of us—and still somehow ends up on the chopping block.

Over half a million people saw what was happening and called it out. Loudly. We didn’t come from one political side. We came from everywhere—because this wasn’t about politics. It was about land. Access. And the fact that when people try to sell off what belongs to everyone, everyone should care.

Here’s what actually happened:

• Senator Mike Lee snuck the sale into a budget bill.
* The Senate Parliamentarian said it didn’t follow the rules.
* They pulled the land sale provision.

• ✅ Forest Service land is safe—for now.
• ⚠️ BLM land is still in the conversation—only land near towns, but don’t let that fool you. That’s the land we use the most.

Let’s clear this up right now:

This wasn’t about selling Yellowstone. Or Yosemite or any of the National Parks. That’s not what the bill said. And nobody fell for that. What we were fighting for was BLM land and forest land—less famous, more vulnerable. The open space between the headlines.

So when Senator Lee called the backlash “leftist propaganda”? Let me be real clear:

This wasn’t about being left. Or right. It was about being wide awake.

Let’s talk about the history—because this isn’t new

Before any of this land was called “public,” it was taken. By broken treaties. By force. The same ground they nearly sold last week sits on the homelands of:

• Shoshone
• Northern Arapaho
• Blackfeet (Niitsitapi)
• Apsáalooke (Crow)
• Salish & Kootenai
• Ute
• Bannock
• Nez Perce

It’s been taken before. Renamed. Redrawn. Now they’re trying to sell it off like it was ever theirs to begin with.

This isn’t about guilt or division.

It’s about holding the line—because this land already got taken once. Renamed. Redrawn. And now they’re trying to flip it for a budget win.

We live here. We raise our kids here. We dig our roots into these places. So when they try to carve it up again, we don’t ask for permission to say no.

Whose land is it, really?

→ Use Native Land Digital to find out whose land you’re on

📚 Want to know more than the textbooks told you?

• Our History Is the Future — Nick Estes
  How Indigenous resistance shapes the land and climate fights happening right now.
• An Indigenous Peoples’ History of the United States — Roxanne Dunbar-Ortiz
  Breaks down exactly how land was taken—and how that plays out today.
• Bury My Heart at Wounded Knee — Dee Brown
  First-person Native history that strips the myths away.
• Empire of the Summer Moon — S.C. Gwynne
  The Comanche fight for land, power, and survival—told in full.
• The Heartbeat of Wounded Knee — David Treuer
  Modern Native stories of strength, presence, and future—not just pain.

“We said: Not Forest Service. Not BLM. Not near towns. Not even one acre. And we meant it.”

And here’s where we land:

This was a win. A big one. But they’ve already said they’ll try again. New version. Same goal.

They’re hoping we stop watching. That we move on. That we forget.

But we’ve seen this pattern before. Land gets taken. Renamed. Framed as progress. And if no one pushes back, it disappears.

This isn’t about shame. It’s about paying attention. And making dahh gummm sure they don’t get away with it again.

Not. One. Acre.