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Harnessing People Power to Protect Alaska鈥檚 Last Remaining Wilderness
Why you can trust us
January has seen major progress toward protecting the Arctic National Wildlife Refuge, thanks to the organizing power of three distinct communities鈥擨ndigenous activists, TikTok creators, and the makers of an unfinished documentary film鈥攖hat came together toward a common goal.
In December, with an oil lease sale looming and the Trump administration trying to push through before leaving the White House, the pressure was on for environmental groups and Gwich鈥檌n and I帽upiat activists who have been working to stave off fossil fuel companies for decades.
鈥淭o be honest, it鈥檚 not easy going into places, talking to people that will never understand how spiritually and culturally connected we are to our land, to our water, and to our animals,鈥� says Bernadette Demientieff, the executive director of the Gwich鈥檌n Steering Committee. 鈥淏ut I do it anyway. I try anyway.鈥� She believes telling her story is the most important and powerful tool for making change. And she鈥檚 using new platforms to get that message out, including TikTok.
Western science supports that move: As Ru Mahoney, the founder of explains, media鈥攊n the form of TV news, stories on social media, videos on YouTube, etc.鈥攊s the No.1 force that determines how people make decisions relating to scientific issues like climate change. That鈥檚 why she works as a science impact producer to maximize the social impact of stories in the media.
One of her team鈥檚 current projects is a film called , featuring the expertise of Demientieff and other Gwich鈥檌n and I帽upiat voices to illuminate why and how Arctic ecosystems need to be protected. The film was set to be released in the fall of 2020, just before the scheduled oil lease sale and the Trump administration鈥檚 final push for new oil exploration in Alaska. But then COVID-19 hit, and the film project halted.
鈥淭he point had always been to use the film to point people towards meaningful action to protect the refuge,鈥� Mahoney says. So the team decided to pivot. They would use the images and video from the film鈥攕hot by National Geographic photographer Florian Schulz鈥攊n an entirely new way: by making them available to users on TikTok for free.
Mahoney says social media is a way for people to reclaim the power to tell their stories while sidestepping the overly polarized landscape that exists in traditional media. And the idea paid off. Through a viral campaign in support of the Arctic National Wildlife Refuge, activists were able to garner more letters to the U.S. Fish and Wildlife Service in three short weeks than the federal government had ever received during a public comment period.
鈥淭he youngest generation stood up for something that they believe in that represents human rights, that represents the fight for climate change, that represents the fight for our future,鈥� says Alex Haraus, the TikTok creator responsible for kicking off the viral ANWR campaign.
The oil exploration plan that the Trump administration was trying to ram through was effectively blocked because the Fish and Wildlife Service was unable to process the 6.3 million letters it received during the public comment period before Trump left office.
This environmental and human rights victory was the product of people power鈥攁 collaboration between those whose people have called this land home for tens of thousands of years, and some who had never set foot there. But everyone understood that it was a shared future at stake in an already changing climate.
鈥淎s Gwich’in people, we don’t only protect this area just for ourselves, we protect it for you guys and鈥� your children,鈥� Demientieff says. 鈥淏ecause what happens up here will happen everywhere.鈥�
Climate Change Is Here
Climate change is hitting the Arctic first and fastest. The present reality for Indigenous peoples and the wildlife around them is grim: 鈥淲e literally had thousands and thousands of dead fish in our rivers and lakes, and birds literally falling out of the sky of starvation,鈥� Demientieff says.
鈥淲e have 12 villages in Alaska right now that need immediate relocation because they鈥檙e falling into the ocean,鈥� says Siqiniq Maupin, director of Sovereign I帽upiat for a Living Arctic. 鈥淎nd this is just the beginning.鈥�
The Indigenous stewardship of these lands goes beyond material needs to encompass spiritual and cultural dimensions. 鈥淥ur entire identity is based on the land, and we鈥檙e boldly bringing that up,鈥� Maupin says.
The areas that are being considered for oil exploration and drilling are sacred to many. The Gwich鈥檌n, for example, have protected the coastal plain for millennia without setting foot in it because it is just too important for the caribou, who rely on the visibility of its open expanses and its mosquito-fighting ocean winds for safety during calving.
鈥淲e are real people,鈥� Demientieff says. 鈥淲e have jobs, we have families, we have children, we have homes.鈥� She understands the economic pressures facing fossil fuel workers and recognizes the value of economic activity in the region. But she鈥檚 not willing to pursue that at the expense of the environment that sustains her people and their caribou relatives. 鈥淪ome people forgot that we are already rich鈥攔ich in our culture, religion, our way of life,鈥� she says. 鈥淥ur people is not up for negotiation. Our way of life is not for sale.鈥�
Still, on Jan. 6, to auction off drilling rights in the last remaining area of undeveloped land in what is now northern Alaska. Just a few bidders showed up and the sale totaled only 1% of the income it was initially expected to generate. This was a clear message that the fossil fuel industry does not have a future in the status quo.
Divestment from fossil fuels is happening on a grand scale, including by . Major banks, too, have , which can affect public opinion and policy. Even oil companies themselves are starting to make the transition: BP is arm in favor of investments in renewables. And just today, Biden announced he鈥檚 on public lands.
The Power of Storytelling
Mahoney recognizes that participation in the democratic process can often seem painful and slow, or even performative. She says she initially saw a lot of comments on TikTok to that effect鈥攑essimism about how those in power never listen, so it鈥檚 not worth saying anything. But that impression was proven wrong. 鈥淲hen you participate in the democratic process en masse, it does make a difference,鈥� Mahoney says.
That鈥檚 the power of storytelling, Mahoney says, and that鈥檚 one of the takeaways of this movement: seeing and acknowledging power in people who are not considered powerful in the traditional political machine. Expertise and wisdom come in many forms.
鈥淥ne of the most underestimated assets in the fight against climate change, and in activism in general, is the research ability, the technical prowess, and the coordination of the youngest generation,鈥� says Haraus, 23, a conservation photographer and climate communicator. He says the power dynamic has to shift to recognize that. 鈥淲e can rally as a generation,鈥� Haraus says. 鈥淭hat’s incredibly powerful. That’s a very, very tangible force to be reckoned with.鈥�
To organize the ANWR movement, Haraus not only created content that encouraged people to send letters to the Fish and Wildlife Service, but also put together a toolkit that included the photos and videos, along with background information to inform other creators about the issues surrounding the refuge. He says young people aren鈥檛 often trusted with this kind of professional content, but that they can do amazing things when they鈥檙e given the tools and resources.
鈥淎nyone that has the capacity to use this platform can be an activist and stand up for this,鈥� he says. But 鈥渋f you want to communicate with people, you have to be able to relate to them.鈥� That鈥檚 why everyone can and should take their own, authentic approach.
Haraus recalls the first person to use the toolkit was 16 years old, and 鈥渁n awesome human being.鈥� The first piece of content that teenager put out got more than 100,000 views, so he kept putting out more TikToks. 鈥淗e is single-handedly responsible for tens of thousands of letters, and he knows that now,鈥� Haraus says. If he hadn鈥檛 been trusted to use the film鈥檚 images and videos, Haraus says, 鈥渉e wouldn’t have been as inspired and on fire for environmental activism now going forward.鈥�
鈥淧eople were empowered to tell the stories that mattered to them,鈥� Mahoney explains. 鈥淎nd then that meant that they brought people who also cared about the topics to the issue.鈥� Some laser-focused on Indigenous social justice issues. Others zoomed in on the environmental impacts. One young wildlife advocate even crocheted a polar bear in her appeal video. They each took the issue and made it their own. 鈥淭here was a diversity of voices,鈥� Mahoney says. 鈥淭here are a lot of different types of people who care about this issue.鈥�
The intersectionality of the issue is part of what made its appeal so widespread. About , including a majority of Republicans.
鈥淚n Alaska, we鈥檙e realizing that compartmentalizing these projects and trying to fight them off individually is really what, unfortunately, the government counts on,鈥� Maupin says. But when people come together to talk about the larger issue of climate justice that ties these environmental, human rights, economic, and public lands issues together, she says, they see how similar the challenges they face really are, from rural villages in Alaska to inner city Chicago.
鈥淲e need to stick our differences aside,鈥� Demientieff says. 鈥淲e need to come together for our future generations. We have to. We don鈥檛 have time.鈥� Climate change doesn鈥檛 care who you are, she says. 鈥淲e鈥檙e all going to be impacted, so we need to work together. We need to protect what we have left.鈥�
For her part, Demientieff is leaning into the power of storytelling on social media, too. She, too, is on TikTok these days.
鈥淚t鈥檚 so spectacular to witness people from all over the world in a livestream, interacting and speaking directly with Bernadette and the face of this movement,鈥� Haraus says. 鈥淭aking her time as a leader to engage with this community is incredibly powerful.鈥�
Demientieff says she takes the time to talk to everyone, no matter who they are, because she never knows where her voice will take her. And right now, she says, we need all hands on deck. That鈥檚 why the Gwich鈥檌n Steering Committee has also designed a training for their own people to be Arctic advocates. It includes their creation story, their connection to the Earth, and stories from their elders.
Valuing everyone鈥檚 unique expertise and empowering them to join the movement is key. And that will be all the more important in the ongoing quest for permanent protection of the refuge.
鈥淚f you have it in your heart, you have it.鈥� Demientieff says. 鈥淵ou need to ask yourself, as a human being, what side of history are you going to be on?鈥�
Correction: This story was updated at 3:02 pm on January 28, 2021 to reflect that Demientieff has communicated with Haraus and his audience on social media platforms, but the two have not created content together. Read our editorial corrections policy here.
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Breanna Draxler
is a senior editor at YES!, where she leads coverage of climate and environmental justice, and Native rights. She has nearly a decade of experience editing, reporting, and writing for national magazines including National Geographic聽online and Grist, among others. She collaborated on a climate action guide for聽Audubon Magazine that won a National Magazine Award in 2020. She recently served as a board member for the Society of Environmental Journalists and the Northwest Science Writers Association.聽She has a master鈥檚 degree in environmental journalism from the University of Colorado Boulder. Breanna is based out of the traditional territories of the Coast Salish people, but has worked in newsrooms on both coasts and in between. She previously held staff positions at聽bioGraphic, Popular Science, and聽Discover Magazine.
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