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An animation historian on Reddy Kilowatt, the cartoon charged with electrifying everything in the early 20th century.

With all the attention paid to electric vehicles and heat pumps, the 2020s might seem like the decade of home electrification — but nothing might ever rival the boom of the original Roaring Twenties. By 1929, 70% of all American homes had access to electricity, double the figure from the beginning of the decade – bringing home electrification from minority to majority.
Home electrification was so big back then, it even had a mascot: Reddy Kilowatt. Invented by a marketer at the Alabama Power Company in 1926, this cheery spokescharacter with a lightning-bolt body and a lightbulb nose was licensed to hundreds of utility companies throughout the greater part of the 20th century to promote electricity – and more specifically investor–owned utilities. Reddy was even used as a tool to link government-owned utilities to socialism or communism in years following World War II.

I first came across Reddy Kilowatt last year when a climate tech peer emailed me an image of him, probably from the 1950s, powering everything from a hot water heater to a record player with the headline “Your all Electric Home.”

For weeks I couldn’t stop thinking about that headline because I kept hearing people in the decarbonization movement say similar things (does Electrify Everything ring a bell?). Itching to learn more of the history of Reddy, I reached out to an expert.
Dr. Kirsten Moana Thompson is a professor at Seattle University who teaches and writes about animation. Her paper, Live Electrically with Reddy Kilowatt, Your Electrical Servant, explores the history of this “phenomenally successful and ubiquitous spokescharacter.”
I chatted with Dr. Moana Thompson over a video call from her office where a framed illustration of Reddy Kilowatt hung behind her. I went into the call thinking about positioning this article, “Is America ready for another Reddy?,” but by the end I learned he may be best left in the 1900s. The following interview was edited for length and clarity.
Mike Munsell
Can you introduce yourself and tell me how you ended up researching Reddy Kilowatt?
Dr. Kirsten Moana Thompson:
I'm a professor and chair of the film and media department at Seattle University, and Reddy Kilowatt was part of my research into animation that has been used in sponsored media — that is media used for non-traditional, non-entertainment purposes to do something else, like sell something, instruct you, persuade you. It forms a chapter in what will be a new book coming out in the next couple of years on animation and advertising. I think Reddy Kilowatt is a great example of how popular it was in the post-war period to use animated spokescharacters to sell products or ideas.
Munsell:
I’m curious: Are animated mascots less prevalent today than back in the post-war period?
Thompson:
My research doesn’t focus on the contemporary era, so I couldn't give you a precise example. But certainly, as late as the ‘70s, animation characters still were extensively used to promote products, not just cereal, and toys, but things like bubble bath and candy and, well into the ‘70s, alcohol as well.
There are lots of reasons for that, because certain types of animation were fairly cheap to produce, were appealing, often comedic, and attention grabbing. They were a great means to sell a product — also great to use for abstract or more complex processes, like, how do you make oil or petrol or gas? How do you convey a concept like capitalism? Animation, as opposed to live action, was often a more successful way to convey or target topics of that nature.
We have to anthropomorphize the things that are too abstract, too conceptual, or too inhuman to make them translatable into something that we can comprehend and relate to. Hence the Geico lizard or the Aflac duck.
Munsell
And that makes sense then for Reddy Kilowatt to advertise electricity back when it was new, right?
Thompson
Yes, it really emerged around the time electrification was in two thirds of American households — by 1930. And electrical utility companies needed to find an appealing way to sell their product and to encourage consumer consumption of things like appliances, which themselves were emerging — things like dishwashers and washing machines and hair dryers and so on. But also rural electrification, and electrification for business purposes and factories, and on farms.
[Reddy Kilowatt] emerged targeting a fairly affluent consumer, by, for example, turning electricity into a servant – an abstract servant that was personalized and anthropomorphized.
But it was also a way of rather cleverly justifying rate increases as well, which occurred a little later, by making Reddy Kilowatt literally a figure that earns wages and was regarded as an employee by many electrical utility companies. So it's a clever way to say to people, hey, everybody deserves a wage and Reddy Kilowatt deserves a wage and prices are going up, so we're going to put his wages up. And that's a fair thing.

Munsell:
The Smithsonian has a huge collection of Reddy Kilowatt material. Did you get to go check that out?
Thompson:
Yes, I did. The archives are extensive. And so you can read all about how [Reddy Kilowatt creator] Ashton Collins promoted the product, and what the kinds of speeches that he gave to many other business companies and electrical utility companies in the 30s and 40s.
But he's part of a wider movement. There are other leading figures like Walt Disney and Walter Lantz, who were animation studio heads. Walter Lantz, of course, ran what he would pick the Walter Lantz studios that produced Woody Woodpecker and Andy Panda, and a number of other popular cartoons of the 40s. And Walt Disney, of course, we're all familiar with. But they all believed that the kinds of skills that animation studios were doing in the 1940s — by making cartoons to train troops to operate machinery or rifles, and by making propaganda to translate the values of the fight for democracy against fascism — they believed that those skills could be applied to the commercial market in the post-war period. And that animation was a key element of visual culture that could translate to a sometimes illiterate population or partially illiterate population.
So Ashton Collins is not alone there. He's part of a broader movement in the film industry and in the animation industry, to understand the unique power of animation to communicate and to sell and persuade.
Munsell
Did you find anything in your research particularly surprising?
Thompson
In addition to extensive print materials in the Smithsonian, you see dozens and dozens of objects that featured Reddy Kilowatt. His image is on everything from stickers to comic books to toys, and other giveaways for kids to little marionettes, and robots, which were used in trade shows and trade fairs. [Author’s note: eBay has an extensive Reddy Kilowatt collection]
It was used in the 1939 World's Fair, for example, to communicate and to encourage the public to interact with Reddy Kilowatt as if it was a real figure. I was quite taken with this – it's really an early form of animatronics. They were using an avatar, a spokescharacter, who was fairly ubiquitous in the American home, on people's electricity bills, and combining it with a large three dimensional object with a record player attached and somebody who operated the speaking, to interact with kids at fairs and to communicate basic ideas. So that was really exciting in a way because it shows how ahead of its time Ashton Collins was at understanding interactivity.
Mike Munsell
I was thinking about copyright and trademark law and the public domain. Reddy Kilowatt was, in his original form, created in 1926. We're coming up on that 100 year mark. Is there a chance he enters the public domain?
Dr. Moana Thompson
I'm not sure about that. Because you can renew copyright. Which of course Disney did repeatedly before it finally had to succumb to the end of copyright. And Reddy is also a trademark as opposed to a copyrighted image. So he has not just appeared in what is public access now, some of his films and TV commercials, but he's also a trademark figure that has a continuing commercial currency. And Ashton Collins was absolutely rigorous at paying attention to trademark law. He sued other companies that had similar characters, like Willie Wired Head.

I suspect that Xcel Energy [who now owns the rights to Reddy Kilowatt] is going to be very strict in policing its trademarks. Because if this product has value as a commodity of nostalgia for a certain generation, or multiple generations, or even if it has a new function in Xcel’s future corporate identity, he's going to have value.
Munsell
I guess your research sort of doesn't get quite into the present day, but for my understanding Reddy Kilowatt is not really used much today. It was used by a utility in Barbados and an Ecuadorian soccer club more recently, but from your understanding do you know why he stopped being used?
Thompson
Well, I'm not sure that he stopped being used. I have seen the return of Reddy Kilowatt as a consumer figure and as a licensed product that appears on T-shirts and stickers. Amazon has been selling quite a lot of Reddy Kilowatt products. So it's possible that Xcel Energy that owns the trademark sees the value of the product for a new market, which is the nostalgic market, where you can sell a cartoon character itself.
Munsell: I do think that with the emergence of heat pumps, and induction stoves, there is a push toward home electrification and moving away from fossil fuels in your home. I wonder if that’s an opportunity for a reemergence of Reddy?
Thompson
Yeah, it could be an opportunity for them to repurpose the trademark.
Munsell
Is there anything else you wanted to add about your research into Reddy?
Thompson
I thought it was interesting, the blend that Reddy Kilowatt had of both the impersonal and the personal. On the one hand, we've mostly been talking about it as this cute cartoony character of appeal and personality. But on the other hand, he represents an abstract concept, which is almost robotic. He was literally a robot as part of his marketing. This concept of the kilowatt as one and a half horsepower was part of this wider discursive emergence in the ‘20s that electricity was both a servant, as an anthropomorphized figure, and an abstraction that is there at the flick of a switch.
And in their marketing, they used imagery that of course would never be used today. The association of kilowatt as both a “coolie” – which was the specific language used – and a slave.
So this kind of racist imagery is interesting because it gets to the roots of this idea of the dehumanized, depersonalized aspects of Reddy Kilowatt – that electricity represented by using this imagery, and they had little pictures of kilowatt, which were described as a slave or a “coolie” to explain that, basically, this was free labor and unlimited labor. So obviously addressed to an implicitly white consumer. [The idea that] racial imagery of course affected all kinds of aspects of American advertising is well known to scholars in this field and often played on imagery of blackness or whiteness, in the case of soap advertising, for example, but Reddy Kilowatt in particular is this machinic identity.
And who knows, maybe that'll come back again in the future, because machines are so much more part of our lives now, as compared to 1926 or the mid century with computers and artificial intelligence.
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Chicago-based Clean Core is set to announce a pilot deal to manufacture thorium-based fuel.
Thorium bulls are rare. Of all the competing visions for what kind of technology should dominate a global nuclear renaissance, thorium-fueled reactors have remained avant garde even as other once-experimental concepts such as high-temperature gas-cooled reactors and molten salt reactors found their champions.
But unlike its proponents, thorium itself is not rare. In fact, it’s as much as four times more abundant than uranium, the fuel used in every one of the 415 commercial reactors in operation worldwide today.
Back in the 1960s, when the rapid growth of the world’s fleet of atomic power stations spurred fears that uranium would run out, scientists in the U.S., Germany, and India began experimenting with thorium reactors. Then the post-war electricity demand surge spurred by next-generation electric appliances and booming factories eventually plateaued, curbing the need for more reactors — just as the meltdowns at Three Mile Island and Chernobyl reduced public support for the industry. Following a brief resurgence in the early 2000s, thorium fever mostly subsided. That is, until this past fall, when China made a major breakthrough in developing a thorium-fueled molten salt reactor.
India, meanwhile, stayed set on transitioning to a thorium-fueled fleet, which, given its large deposits of the metal and virtually nonexistent reserves of uranium, would give the subcontinent greater energy independence.
Now an American startup — which last year became one of the first U.S. companies granted permission to export nuclear materials to India — is taking a major step toward helping India realize its 72-year-old thorium dream. On Thursday, Chicago-based Clean Core Thorium Energy plans to announce a pilot manufacturing deal with the Canadian National Laboratories, Heatmap has learned.
“This is the biggest advance toward commercializing thorium in recent history,” Milan Shah, Clean Core’s chief operating officer, told me.
Thorium is “fertile” but not “fissile,” meaning it cannot sustain a chain reaction on its own, which creates an obvious challenge. But when exposed to neutron radiation, the material converts into fissile uranium-233. Rather than build a new type of reactor designed to run on thorium, as the Chinese government is now doing, Clean Core blends thorium fuel with a small amount of high-assay, low-enriched uranium, or HALEU, the type of fuel many next-generation reactor companies aim to use, which kicks off the reaction.
The proprietary fuel assemblies Clean Core manufactures are made to be used in the reactors that make up the bulk of the Indian and Canadian nuclear fleets without any upgrades or changes needed to go from enriched uranium to this new material. While the company waits for the units — they’re expected to be ready to go sometime around the second quarter of next year — it has begun talks with utilities in Canada, Romania, South Korea, and India about taking one of the assemblies for a test run.
Combined, Canada and India operate more than three quarters of the world’s pressurized heavy water reactors. Heavy water absorbs far fewer neutrons than the light water used in most reactors, resulting in a better “neutron economy” that allows the chain reaction to continue using lower concentrations of fissile uranium. That’s a big part of the reason why Canada chose the technology for its pioneering CANDU reactor, one of the world’s first widely built PHWRs, as the reactors are known. Using heavy water as a coolant makes it possible to burn up raw, natural uranium instead of the enriched fuel most reactors use, allowing Canada to divorce its CANDU fleet from the mid-century industrial complex pumping out atomic weapons.
The International Atomic Energy Agency’s data shows 46 PHWRs operating in the world today: 19 in India, 17 in Canada, three each in Argentina and South Korea, and two each in China and Romania.
“We’re looking at Canada, Romania, South Korea, and India — in that order,” Mehul Shah, Clean Core’s founder and chief executive (and Milan’s father), told me. That ranking, he said, is according to the perceived priorities of the U.S. government. Canada is a natural place to test Clean Core’s material because it’s right over the border; the Canadian Nuclear Safety Commission works closely with the Nuclear Regulatory Commission; and much of the world’s PHWR fleet is based on Canuck technology.
At a moment when HALEU is rare, the Canadian government is providing the material to Clean Core for its debut fuel bundles. But the U.S. has made Romania a high priority for nuclear exports, facilitating several high-profile deals with American vendors such as Westinghouse and GE Vernova Hitachi Nuclear Energy and offering federal financial support.
While Canada has some of the world’s richest reserves of uranium, India’s push for thorium means that it is likely the biggest near-term market for Clean Core. The elder Shah’s connections have helped win strong support. Anil Kakodkar, the former chairman of India’s Atomic Energy Commission, was his mentor. The country’s regulators have already embraced Clean Core’s technology.
Demonstrating that the fuel bundles work effectively and safely in a full-scale reactor is “the last step to commercialization,” Mehul Shah said.
If successful, Clean Core’s effort could have geopolitical ramifications for an industry that — by dint of its unique global regulations, and the fact that it’s dominated by the adversarial superpowers such as Russia, China, and the U.S. — is always subject to the travails of foreign affairs.
For one thing, the company’s technology represents one of, if not the most serious gamble in the democratic world on the future of thorium after China’s experimental reactor successfully converted thorium into fuel in a reaction. The Swiss startup Transmutex has promised to build a thorium reactor, but hasn’t announced anything significant in the past year. A rival developer, Copenhagen Atomics, has pledged to build its own thorium reactor, but has — aside from a modest European Union award — has announced little progress in the past year and is based in a country that still bans nuclear energy and only started officially reconsidering atomic power this year. Thor Energy, an early-stage Norwegian venture, has said it plans to follow Clean Core’s path in devising a thorium-based fuel for existing reactors. But the company’s website shows it hasn’t issued a press release since 2018, and a government commission in Norway just advised against pursuing atomic energy in the hydropower-rich Nordic nation.
For another, Clean Core could chart a path for other American companies into India. For years, India was effectively closed off to foreign nuclear companies due to a law that was written to avoid a scenario like the 1984 Bhopal disaster, where an accident at the Union Carbide plant killed thousands while the American corporation largely avoided liability. With that much liability on the vendors, however, the only overseas nuclear vendor willing to roll the dice was Russia’s state-owned Rosatom. But in December, as I wrote over in the Heatmap AM newsletter at the time, India passed legislation to reform the liability law and open the market for American, European, and Asian reactor developers.
If Clean Core can make India’s thorium ambitions a reality, American reactor exporters may have a new reason to start taking the fuel seriously again.
The administration reinstated previously awarded grants worth up to $1.2 billion total.
The Department of Energy is allowing the Direct Air Capture hub program created by the Biden administration to move forward, according to a list the department submitted to Congress on Wednesday.
The program awarded up to $1.2 billion to two projects — Occidental Petroleum’s South Texas DAC Hub, and Climeworks and Heirloom’s joint Project Cypress in Louisiana — both of which appeared on a list of nearly 2,000 grants that have passed the agency’s previously announced review of Biden-era awards.
This fate was far from certain. The DAC Hubs program originally awarded 21 projects, most of them smaller in scale or earlier in development than the Louisiana and Texas hubs. The DOE terminated 10 of those awards last October. A few days after the news of the cancellations broke, the Louisiana and Texas hubs both appeared on a leaked list of additional projects slated for termination. The companies never received termination letters, however, and now the DOE has notified the developers that the projects will be allowed to proceed.
A spokesperson for Battelle, the lead project developer for Project Cypress, told me the company has been “advised that the DOE project team with oversight of Project Cypress will be contacting us soon to begin the process of moving the project forward.”
Wright has signaled that many of the projects that made it through the review process had to be modified, but it is unclear which ones or how the DAC hubs will be affected. Neither Battelle nor the other companies responded to questions about whether their plans have changed.
The award amount is also up in the air. Originally, each project was awarded about $50 million for early development, with the opportunity to receive up to $600 million each. The spreadsheet of retained projects lists each of the DAC hubs at $50 million, but that may just be the amount that has been obligated so far. The DOE’s budget request for 2027 suggests it could be planning to pay out the full amount: The agency wants to rescind $2.3 billion from the $3.5 billion DAC Hubs program, which, if approved, would still leave $1.2 billion, the amount earmarked for the Project Cypress and South Texas hubs.
In an email, Climeworks spokesperson Tristan Lebleu told me the company “looks forward to engaging with the Department of Energy and our partners on next steps to advance our project in Louisiana."
Vikram Aiyer, the head of policy for Heirloom, said the project has strong support from local leaders, including Louisiana's Congressional Delegation and Governor Jeff Landry. He said the startup looks forward to working with the DOE on “unlocking the appropriated and obligated monies to create high-quality jobs, strengthen domestic supply chains, and pair industrial growth with advanced carbon management and utilization.”
A spokesperson from Occidental declined to comment, advising me to contact the DOE. The DOE has not responded to a request for comment.
While the companies are painting this as positive news, they must now contend with a new challenge: raising private investment for these projects in a very different environment than when the projects were first proposed. Carbon removal purchases are down and investors are not as keen on the industry as they once were.
“This is a step in the right direction but what’s important now is that these projects get built,” Giana Amador, the executive director of the Carbon Removal Alliance, wrote on LinkedIn. “That means steel in the ground, agreements honored, and clarity so our companies can do what they do best: build.”
The Senate approved a House resolution using the Congressional Review Act to allow a mining operation near Minnesota’s Boundary Waters wilderness area.
In a 50-49 vote on Thursday, the Senate approved opening a national forest just outside the Boundary Waters Canoe Wilderness Area in Minnesota to a copper-nickel mining operation, a move that environmentalists and conservationists say will pollute the downstream watershed and set a precedent for future rollbacks on protected public lands.
The upper chamber’s decision follows a near-party-line House vote in January and months of subsequent protests, op-eds, and pleas to senators to preserve the wilderness expanse and recreation area. The level of mobilization has been reminiscent of the early days of the second Trump administration, when public outrage erupted against the efficiency department’s gutting of the beloved National Park Service. This time, the focus was on House Joint Resolution 140, which had made its way onto a Senate calendar already crowded with debates over funding for the Department of Homeland Security and the limits of war powers.
The Boundary Waters is America’s most heavily visited wilderness area, supporting an estimated $16 billion recreation-based economy in the region. Minnesota’s Democratic Senator Tina Smith, who held the floor on Wednesday night in protest of revoking the protections, said that a poll by her office found that 70% of residents in the state believe preventing pollution from the mine should be a top priority for their elected officials.
Democratic presidents had managed to stave off the copper-nickel mining operation on the Boundary Waters’ doorstep for almost 20 years by way of a mineral withdrawal. Then, this winter, the House utilized the Congressional Review Act to reopen consideration of the withdrawal. With Thursday’s vote, Senate Republicans handed a victory to the Chilean mining company Antofagasta and its subsidiary, Twin Metals Minnesota, which has a plethora of connections to Trump administration officials. President Trump is expected to sign the bill. (Twin Metals did not respond to a request for comment.)
Because of the use of the CRA, though, it wasn’t just the fate of the Boundary Waters watershed that was decided swiftly — and perhaps permanently — on Thursday, just days before the 60-day clock would have expired. The vote is “the tip of the spear in terms of setting a precedent,” Ingrid Lyons, the executive director of Save the Boundary Waters, had told me prior to the Senate’s vote.
Justin Meuse, the government relations director at The Wilderness Society, was even more direct when I spoke to him last month. “I can’t stress enough how much it’s freaking us out,” he said.
The Congressional Review Act was originally a bipartisan bill passed in 1996 as a mechanism for the legislative branch to oversee agency rulemaking. The law requires that federal agencies submit final rules to Congress and, in doing so, triggers a 60-day window for the House and Senate to pass a joint resolution of disapproval of those rules via a simple majority. If the president signs the resolution, then the agency’s rule is void, and the agency is further barred from issuing a “substantially similar” rule in the future.
“It wasn’t used for a long time, and people thought it was dead,” Susan Dudley, the former director of the George Washington University Regulatory Studies Center, told me of the CRA. “Then people, including me, said, ‘Okay, the only time we’ll be seeing it used is during transitions, so an incoming president of a different party or with different policy preferences can undo last-minute regulations of the prior president” — so-called midnight regulations such as a Clinton-era Occupational Safety and Health Administration rule that would have established ergonomic protections for workers, and that Congress and President George W. Bush blocked in early 2001.
Opponents had taken to calling the CRA “secretive,” “archaic,” and “obscure.” Then, during the first Trump administration, Republicans passed 15 joint resolutions of disapproval to void late-term Obama rules that would have established fair pay, mandated recordkeeping on workplace injuries, and environmental protections, among other lefty goals. The Biden White House also used the mechanism against three Trump-issued rules — including one that loosened methane emission limits —and paced its own rulemaking with the ticking CRA clock in mind.
Under Trump 2.0, Republicans have stretched the CRA’s deregulatory powers. In defiance of the Senate Parliamentarian last year, conservative members of Congress used the CRA to overturn a waiver that allowed California to preempt the Clean Air Act by setting its own stricter-than-federal emissions standards for cars and trucks. Opponents were outraged. A “waiver” is a state- and site-specific authorization, they argued, distinct from agency “rules” as defined by the CRA.
Most alarming to conservationists, though, is the fact that Republicans are now using the CRA to attack public land protections in myriad ways. Congress has already used the act to target resource management plans, which are the Bureau of Land Management’s guidelines for allowable land use ranging from oil and gas leases to renewable energy rights-of-way. Last summer, the Government Accountability Office determined that an RMP banning coal leases across millions of acres of eastern Montana counted as a “rule,” a determination that Dudley told me was in keeping with the original intent of the CRA, which defined “rule” expansively. But it also created a loophole that allows Republicans to submit any RMPs enacted since the CRA became law in 1996 for consideration by the GAO. Each time they do so, it resets the 60-day clock to submit a resolution of disapproval, even if the resource management plan was established decades ago.
“We literally have hundreds of land use plans that have been finalized over the last 30 years,” John Ruple, a research professor of law at the University of Utah’s Wallace Stegner Center for Land Resources and the Environment, told me. “The fact that none of those were submitted to Congress — even though Congress had these GAO opinions in front of them that said, ‘Yeah, technically, these are probably rules,’ they never objected. I think that should tell us something: RMPs were meant to be treated differently.”
In the case of the Boundary Waters, the CRA voids a 20-year-old withdrawal of watershed lands from mineral leasing, which the BLM finalized in 2023 but only submitted to Congress earlier this year.
Though many of the conservationists I spoke to argued that a mineral withdrawal doesn’t qualify under the CRA to begin with because it’s not federal rulemaking, Todd F. Gaziano — who served as the chief counsel of the subcommittee on regulatory affairs during its passage in 1996, and was the primary staffer who drafted the final version of the legislation — disagreed. He told me that CRA was always intended to have a broad mandate in order to prevent circumvention by agencies — say, by issuing “guidance” rather than a formal “rule.” As Gaziano put it to me, “If people outside government care about it, and it’s an agency statement that’s going to have a future effect, that sounds like a rule covered by the Congressional Review Act.”
Ruple stressed to me that focusing on what is or is not a rule misses the greater point. Whether it’s legal or not, using the CRA to undo land management plans is a “really bad idea,” he said. “It’s really dangerous, it’s really destabilizing, and it injects tremendous uncertainty into the land management process.”
A major concern is that, because of the CRA’s provision barring a federal agency from issuing a “substantially similar” rule in the future, a resolution of disapproval effectively salts the earth behind it. “It’s a sledgehammer rather than a tool to tweak a regulation that Congress might think should be better,” is how Dudley, the former Regulatory Studies Center director, put it to me. That’s also Ruple’s point — there are many other avenues Congress can pursue if it disagrees with an agency, from sending letters to calling in staff to testify, before the nuclear option of the CRA.
Nevertheless, there are fears about what Republicans in Congress will target next — the party appears poised to test the CRA against a national monument. Republican Representative Celeste Malloy and Republican Senator Mike Lee, both of Utah, introduced a joint resolution to undo the Grand Staircase-Escalante National Monument Management Plan under the CRA after getting the GAO’s go-ahead this winter. “It’s a really big escalation to go from knocking off land‑management plans versus tackling a national monument,” Steve Bloch, the legal director of the Southern Utah Wilderness Alliance, told me earlier this year. “There are lots of monument management plans in the country that would be at risk if this one falls.”
There will likely be a regrouping in the aftermath of Thursday’s defeat on Boundary Waters to reconsider how to protect public lands. Jim Pattiz, a co-founder of the website and public lands newsletter More Than Just Parks, told me ahead of the vote that he expected a lawsuit to follow in short order if the vote didn’t go conservationists’ way. “Hopefully they can get an injunction, they can get a class action, and at least put a hold on this, and it can play out in courts,” he said.
But Ruple seemed to believe the crisis is even more existential — not just a case of micromanaging, but a sign of how far the legislative branch has drifted from its intended purpose in the name of party politics. “Congress can’t even pass a budget. Do we really expect them to delve into the minutiae of hundreds of land management plans?” he said.
Gaziano had a different take: “Congress may not want responsibility,” he argued, “but it’s got it.”
As the Boundary Waters vote makes clear, though, even tremendous outcry isn’t enough to sway this Congress from its attack on public lands. “I don’t want to speculate, but I’m not sure what type of action they’re going to go after next because it keeps getting more and more granular,” Meuse, of The Wilderness Society, said. “It really does seem like, as long as there is a willing majority in both chambers, there isn’t an end in sight.”