A Tarnished Gem: Reflections on American National Parks by Olivia Utley

As a kid growing up on the Oregon coast, much of my free time consisted of poking slugs among the Douglas fir and gazing endlessly at tide pool creatures among crashing waves. I have always had a fascination for the little things, but as I have grown, so has my desire for sweeping views and mountainous landscapes.

At age eleven, I visited my first major National Park. Yosemite Valley remains my favorite to this day despite many experiences at the Grand Canyon, the Tetons, and even Yellowstone National Park. I first visited Glacier National Park at the age of seventeen. It launched my interest in backpacking and eventually lead to my application for attendance at Montana State University. For many years now, I have prized National Parks for their protection of the wild without hesitation, but my recent studies with WRFI have begun to shift my perspective.

As a member of Conservation Across Boundaries, I have spent much of my time on course digesting provocative readings and questioning the function of Western science institutions. The most eye opening reading thus far has been from Mark David Spence in “Crown of the Continent, Backbone of the World: The American Wilderness Ideal and Blackfeet Exclusion from Glacier National Park” (1996). I found Spence’s perspective to be both shocking and insightful, but the meaning of his words did not fully set in until my second day in Browning, Montana.

Our group was just wrapping up our guest speaker visit to the Plains Indian Museum when I stepped outside to eat my lunch. From my place on Blackfeet Territory, I looked out upon the vast grasslands as they abruptly met the Rocky Mountain front and continued into Glacier National Park. The mountains stood stark against the clear Montana sky, and I thought to myself, “What a shame. Everyday these people have to stare up at what has been stolen from them.”

The Blackfeet have a complex and traumatic relationship with Glacier that is often excluded from conversations regarding park histories. Author Spence wrote, “Park administrators view Glacier as one of the Nations most spectacular ‘crown jewels’, and Blackfeet use of park lands threatens to tarnish their luster” (Spence, 1996). The Blackfeet people have called this region home for thousands of years while cultivating histories of stewardship and reciprocity, yet true preservation has come to be known as a land without people. I still think Glacier is beautiful and deserving of protection, but now I look at the Park Service with questioning eyes as I wonder at why Glacier remains outside the hands of the Blackfeet people. As Indigenous author Kimmerer writes, “Indigenous is a birth right word. No amount of time or caring changes history or substitutes for soul-deep fusion with the land” (Kimmerer, 2013). We cannot pretend to know better when tribes like the Blackfeet have loved the land like family longer than most can comprehend.

I pose no specific or radical idea of change for the future of park preservation, but instead ask that we all stop to pause and gaze at the mountains long enough to question what we know. Within the history of one of America’s prized jewels is murder, displacement, and loss. If anything, may we remember what the Blackfeet people have lost for our gain.