There is a sentence that has done more damage to America’s public lands than any wildfire, drought, or flood.
The government cannot afford to manage them.
The line is delivered calmly and repeated patiently. It wears the costume of realism. It sounds responsible. It sounds grown-up.
And once it is spoken, everyone in the room is let off the hook.
If the land is framed as too expensive, abandonment starts to look prudent. Transfer starts to look practical. Extraction starts to look necessary. Selling pieces off becomes unfortunate but unavoidable. The future narrows until only what can be monetized is allowed to survive.
That sentence functions as a permission slip.
It allows elected officials to step away from a responsibility that was never designed to turn a profit. It invites the public to believe that collective stewardship was an experiment that failed, rather than an obligation that requires maintenance. It asks people to accept that a nation capable of sustaining wars, empires, and t…
