Opinion: Beyond control — stewardship of Utah's public lands
Utah's public lands have been highly debated for over a decade with the state and federal governments playing tug-of-war over who should control them. Amid the noise of political posturing, we risk losing sight of what is important: No matter who governs these public lands, what truly matters is how they are cared for.
The Utah Legislature has doubled down in recent years. In 2025, House Speaker Mike Schultz prioritized public lands, affirming against federal oversight.
That message was followed by HCR12, a resolution introduced by state Rep. Steve Eliason, urging Congress to create a framework allowing states to assume operational responsibility for federal lands. Supporters cite efficiency; opponents fear weakened conservation.
But the real concern isn't just about governance but stewardship. Utah is home to world-class recreation, vital mineral resources and vast open spaces. The federal government has shown they will protect these lands, as they have for decades. How would our public lands be managed under state control?
In 2024, the governor's office launched the Stand for Our Land campaign, advocating for more state control over public lands. This intensified after the Bureau of Land Management (BLM) Public Lands Rule prioritized conservation alongside commercial uses. Utah leaders opposed it, citing restrictions on rural economies, while conservation groups argued it protected ecosystems and balanced priorities.
Earlier this year, the U.S. Supreme Court rejected Utah's petition to assume control over federal lands. Gov. Spencer Cox reaffirmed Utah's commitment to challenge constraining BLM politics by stating that it 'remains able and willing to challenge any BLM land management decisions that harm Utah.'
Utah's federal delegation is also taking up the fight. On Feb. 11, Rep. Celeste Maloy introduced the Western Economic Security Today (WEST) Act in the U.S. House of Representatives, which seeks to repeal the BLM's Public Lands Rule.
While this debate is framed as a struggle for authority between state and federal governments, the real concern is how the lands are managed. Utah leaders stress stewardship, but history reflects development over conservation.
Utah already manages 3.3 million acres of land through the School and Institutional Trust Lands Administration (SITLA), which is designed to generate revenue for public schools, juvenile services and miners' hospitals (this amount is down from the original 7.4 million that was allocated at statehood). SITLA leases land for industries to fund education, which comes at the expense of conservation. This raises concerns about state control and how it prioritizes development over preservation.
The federal government controls nearly 70% of all Utah land — and for good reason. Managing 22.8 million acres, which includes overseeing wildfire prevention, tourism, maintenance and other infrastructure, costs $247 million annually, per a 2014 report. The federal government has more resources to support those costs compared to the state budget.
There are valid concerns about federal control. Bureaucracy slows even widely supported projects. An example is the Bonneville Shoreline Trail, an ambitious 280-mile trail planned to connect central Utah to the Idaho border, offering a way to engage with Utah's natural beauty. By crossing BLM land, forest and private land, the BST faced years of delays until 2022 legislation alleviated restrictions.
The BST shows that states streamline projects, but large-scale control is another concern. While the BST's success highlights efficiency, it must not come at the cost of conservation.
At the heart of the debate, this isn't about who should own the land. Utah's protected lands are more than a political play — they are recreational spaces, ecosystems and cultural landmarks iconic to Utah. Whether managed by federal or state government, what matters is a promised commitment to stewardship that prioritizes preservation, conservation and long-term responsibility. From Utah's red rock canyons to alpine forest, millions of visitors come near and far to visit our great state. If conservation is not prioritized, irreversible damage could come to pass under the banner of industry and growth.
Stewardship isn't just about preserving the past; it's about curating a future where Utah's lands remain beautiful and public for generations to come, in the great state we call home.
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When students chant 'Globalise the Intifada' on campus, it's an expression of an overtly binary view of the world, an expression that can be linked to their privilege. 'Certainty is attractive,' says Glynn. 'Most of these issues are complex, but we don't like that so let's make it good or evil.' 'What strikes me is the lack of knowledge among students,' says Abulafia. 'With the Gaza/Israel example there is a complete ignorance about the historical context. They don't really seem to be interested.' The anti-Vietnam marches of the 1960s were an attempt to stop a war which had direct consequences for American students, with a chance that you, your friends or family members could be drafted to fight and die on the other side of the world. The current protests have grown in a hothouse of identity politics – in which protesters' views on Gaza are part of a broader world view that tends to encompass critical race theory, extreme trans rights and anti-capitalist activism. Through this lens, Israel is perceived to be a white colonising state and therefore bears the sins of all colonialists, with its associations of racism, apartheid and exploitation. As Abulafia highlights, in many cases, the students appear to be rejecting the world that got them to such colleges in the first place. If they are told the system is bad, they must be bad too. Assumptions about colonialism in higher education that sprang from Edward Said's 1978 book Orientalism and the influence of French intellectuals such as Michel Foucault have contributed to the notion of a hierarchy of oppression, from which students can judge who and what deserves the most sympathy. Katharine Birbalsingh, a leading headteacher who advocates for freedom of speech, suggests that the problem starts at school – specifically private school classrooms – where the connection between privilege and guilt is first made. 'It seems obvious there is a relationship between what you might call 'woke' culture and privilege,' says Birbalsingh. 'By that I include mainly white, middle-class people. Woke ideas like 'decolonisation' and criticism of Western values are everywhere in the most exclusive private school classrooms and that feeds into universities. 'One example is outside speakers who come into private schools and imply that there is something wrong with being privileged and they point towards absolving themselves by embracing Black Lives Matter or the trans movement.' Birbalsingh recently claimed that transgender children are more likely to be 'white and privileged' and that many were searching for 'victimhood narratives', which are 'admired' in modern society. A key part of the dynamic between privilege and protest is how some students react to their less socially advantaged peers. Psychologists suggest students who are perceived to be 'marginalised' are more likely to be listened to, especially when it comes to theories around race and history. 'We have found that students from less privileged backgrounds are deferred to by more privileged ones, because the privileged students believe that the opinions and beliefs of others must be more authentic,' says Dr Helena Bunn, a member of the British Psychological Society and a director of a doctorate programme that explores social justice, oppression and privilege with students at the University of East London. 'The privileged students feel compelled to become advocates for a cause they have little personal connection to. If there is guilt about privilege, that can lead to less critical thinking. 'There can also be a sense of 'I feel I have to do something' so they follow the opinions of others who are seen to be less privileged. It can be as simple as just thinking 'something is wrong here' like a war for example, but the emotional priority is to belong to the cause.' Perhaps the most infamous example of student entitlement was recorded during the Columbia tent encampment, with the appearance of Johannah King-Slutzky as its spokesperson. King-Slutzky, a PhD English student and the daughter of psychologists, warned that students illegally occupying university property could 'die of dehydration and starvation' if they were not given supplies. The protests have raised the ire of the Trump administration, which sees the demonstrations as evidence that universities such as Columbia and Harvard are gripped by a 'woke' elite complicit in the radicalisation of their students. The US president threatened to redirect $3 billion in Harvard research grants last week, following a decision to suspend foreign students from enrolling. 'Harvard is treating our country with great disrespect,' he said. 'Globalise the Intifada' may be cosplay rebellion for some privileged students and a way of expiating guilt for others, but sceptics argue the increasing prevalence of the chant has real-world consequences. The former New York Times columnist Bari Weiss pointed to recent attacks on Jews in New York and Colorado, saying: 'It was dismissed as a metaphor and not what it always was: a demand for open season on Jewish people worldwide.' 'The elite institutions have been ideologically captured,' says Hedley. 'When I worked in the US, I noticed the universities you would assume to be the best weren't because their departments and academics were taken over by a gender and race ideology. Once you turn a university into an ideological arena, it encourages the students to express their outrage and their virtue in ways the average person outside is not going to be very impressed with.' Broaden your horizons with award-winning British journalism. 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