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The Biden administration did several things earlier this month that could lead to enduring protections for the Arctic and potentially make meaningful headway on climate change. First, the Interior Department cancelled the last remaining oil leases stemming from the reckless Trump-era lease sale for the Arctic National Wildlife Refuge.
Late last June, I drove from my home in Anchorage to Fairbanks to join a group of folks for a backpacking trip in the western Arctic. The next morning, we jumped into a mail plane to the village of Anaktuvuk Pass, poised between the Anaktuvuk and John rivers within the Central Brooks Range. It was a bumpy and spectacular ride. The wind blew hard and cold in late June, so we bundled up after landing.
Our work feels less frantic and chaotic than it did a year ago. Nonetheless, the divisive 2020 election that led to an insurrection slashed any hope of taking a break from staying vigilant about defending democracy, ensuring climate action, and sustaining the health of Alaska’s lands and waters. Yes, a lot has changed in 2021, with real hope that climate policy will honor and prioritize frontline communities and Indigenous ways of life. Yet the Biden administration continues to defend Trump era decisions and actions that threaten Alaska communities, animals, and landscapes.
While the Biden administration promises climate action and clean energy, and Alaska’s political leaders spout the “drill baby drill” mantra of fossil fuel dinosaurs, Alaskans and people around the world face enduring threats to their health, ways of life, and homes at the hands of industrialization and climate chaos. Now there's more good bad news for Alaska's Arctic.
Despite four years of intense arm-twisting by political players and industry insiders to put drilling rigs on the sacred calving grounds of the Porcupine caribou herd in the coastal plain of the Arctic National Wildlife Refuge, there are no rigs. Protected areas in the western Arctic also remain mostly unscathed, despite hasty attempts to push project and management plan approvals through processes devoid of scientific integrity or compliance with the law.
The Arctic Refuge Defense campaign includes an array of Alaska and national groups working together to protect the Arctic National Wildlife Refuge. When signing the petition, you join a movement of Alaskans and Americans protecting sacred and public lands, wildlife and wildlife habitat, food access and public health, and the health and integrity of natural places. Sign on to be heard and learn how you can take action to protect the Arctic.
The March 2016 issue of the Alaska Brief includes: a story from a supporter about his trip to the Arctic Refuge inspired by his 40-year friendship with Mardy Murie, how the State of Alaska fails to get it right in oil and gas leasing, and the Healy Coal Plant fire.
We’re closing out the 2023 fiscal year with high hopes for continued headway in protecting Alaska’s Arctic, clean water, salmon, bears, wolves, the integrity of public lands, and so much more. As we segue into 2024, we reach a Trustees milestone that we will be celebrating—with all of you. We’ve been playing a key legal role in protecting Alaska land, water, animals, and people for nearly 50 years. It’s time to throw a giant party—and we’re on it!
By Teresa Clemmer The trajectory of my life has always been more of a zigzag than a straight line. I spent my early years living in San Diego, Miami, Tokyo, and Northern Virginia.  My teenage years were mostly in San Diego with my mom, but my sister and I took extended side trips to Jamaica, Venezuela, and Ecuador to spend time with our dad.  Then I went to college at Princeton in New Jersey, completed a year-long public interest fellowship in the San Francisco area, spent a second year in the Florida Keys, went to law school at Georgetown in Washington, DC, and then moved back to San Francisco cutting my teeth there as a young lawyer. 
Having grown up in large cities, my idea as a kid about “getting outside” looked pretty different than it does to me today. Getting outside often meant biking around my neighborhood or the city with my dad — versus mountain biking in the Chugach Mountains today.