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Recent media coverage of U.S. Rep. Lauren Boebert’s bill calling to delist the gray wolf from federal protection misses the most salient point: Boebert loathes wolves.

Three years ago, Boebert rivaled Disney’s 101 Dalmatians villain Cruella De Vil by appearing in a horrid video calling for the shooting of wolf pups and turning them into “little hats.”

Hostility is not a sound platform for serious-minded, science-based wildlife policy. Nor for a healthy Colorado that adheres to humane ethics.

Gray wolves are not recovered and continue to need Endangered Species Act protection. Without it, gray wolves will be subject only to state laws. But existing state laws have failed egregiously. In the Northern Rocky Mountain states, where wolves have been delisted, state legislation allows unlimited hunting, trapping and killing of gray wolves, sending wolf populations into declines reminiscent of the historic kill levels that resulted in near-extermination.

Boebert’s bill — the Pet and Livestock Protection Act — does nothing to measurably or responsibly protect pets or livestock.

According to a federal study by U.S. Department of Agriculture, 97.6% of all deaths in adult cattle nationwide were not due to predators, but caused by respiratory problems, weather-related illness and other threats. In fact, domestic dogs often attack, injure, and sometimes kill livestock, especially sheep and calves.

In Colorado, ranchers and wolf advocates are working together to prevent conflict. Wolf advocates from Rocky Mountain Wolf Project raised $75,000 to buy conflict reduction equipment for ranchers to use. It works when used correctly, as reported by Idaho rancher Glenn Elzinga, who has not lost any cattle or had to kill any wolves in the past decade.

These voices and stories need to be elevated.

And don’t be fooled. Boebert’s anti-wolf bill is designed for the destruction of a native species intrinsic to a healthy Colorado and the West. The bill is symbolic of the mindset of past centuries, when wolves were killed out of ignorance and unfounded fear. Today, her call to kill wolves is supported by U.S. Reps. Jeff Crank, Gabe Evans and Jeff Hurd.

Delisting wolves nationwide will affect Colorado. Just look at the cascading effects of wolves of Yellowstone. It’s a marvel to witness how the wolf as top predator holds the balance of nature, bringing back beavers and biodiversity.

Hunters can appreciate the recovery of gray wolves has coincided with an increase in elk numbers in all three Northern Rocky Mountain states, according to Colorado State University research. Wolves are removing elk, deer, and moose infected with chronic wasting disease — present in 37 states and 3 provinces.

Gray wolves are one solution to the climate crisis, allowing trees and shrubs to flourish which sequester planet-warming carbon dioxide. Trees and shrubs enable water to be stored in soil, instead of rapidly running off and floods. Woody plants also shade streams and protect them from bank erosion which provides habitat for fish and water for human use.

Wolves are killed across the Northern Rockies using steel-jawed traps, neck snares, packs of dogs and even snowmobiles.

Conservationists are right now working to restore Endangered Species Act protections for wolves in Idaho, Montana, and Wyoming through a federal district court that could rule in a matter of weeks.

Wolves in these three states do not have federal protection. In 2009, U.S. Fish and Wildlife promised to restore protections for wolves in these Northern Rockies if state lawmakers and wildlife managers acted recklessly toward wolves. The agency has failed to hold up to that promise.

We see state lawmakers in these three states allowing the year-round, unlimited trapping of wolves, and killing with the use of night-vision scopes. People who dislike wolves have turned motorized vehicles into weapons. One famous case involved Cody Roberts, who ran over a young female wolf with a snowmobile, taped her mouth shut, then paraded her in a bar before shooting her.

Bounties are paid today for dead wolves.

This is a war on wildlife. Boebert is one of the loudest generals. Tell our Colorado lawmakers that wolf loathing has no place in Colorado, and to protect our wolves with federal protection nationwide, because wildlife has no borders. And, it is time to elevate the voices from the West Slope and Front Range working together. This is not the time for stoking fear, division, and animosity for such an ecologically valuable species.

Jim Martin is a past CU regent who can be reached at jimmartinesq@gmail.com.

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The radical notion of selling off public lands came back as part of the 2026 budget reconciliation. And this time it seems that only the Congressional rule keepers can keep the giveaway of America’s heritage to private interests — off the chopping block. Congress could have, too, if its representatives had listened to widespread public sentiment.

Last week, the Senate Energy and Natural Resources Committee updated its budget bill to include making over 250 million acres of public lands in 11 western states eligible for disposal, including recreation areas, wilderness study areas, inventoried roadless areas, critical wildlife habitat and big game migration corridors, according to analysis by The Wilderness Society.

At the same time, Trump’s Interior Department is aggressively pursuing ways to industrialize, privatize and monetize the public lands. But these places, rich with ecological values, are held in trust for us to conserve and deliver intact to future generations.

Despite the administration’s rhetoric about wanting to reduce the deficit, its goal is to dispose of these lands — to remove them permanently from the public domain. This serves an ideology that reflexively favors private ownership over public enjoyment, whether by diminishing long-term protections on public lands, promoting their immediate development or selling them outright.

What are the effects of this wrongheaded policy?

First, once it’s gone, it’s gone forever. Any land pulled out of the public domain for development will never be returned. As a result, wild places will no longer offer open space for people to hike, hunt or fish, wildlife to thrive, waterways to flow unimpeded and much more.

Second, it’s a slippery slope. We lose environmental protections not by a one-time tsunami of destruction, but by nibbles. If we lose a piece of land today for an appealing idea (for example, deficit reduction, space for housing), then tomorrow we will hear an equally appealing idea to develop the neighboring piece. Then the next day, even more land will be needed for another reason. And so on. The process of destruction by nibbling will never end until there is nothing left to devour.

Third, there’s one upside: It’s an excellent opportunity for conservationists to expand public support for nature. The current attack on public land is enabling conservationists of different stripes to come together and build alliances. Think of hunters and fishers, farmers and ranchers, mountain bikers and horseback riders, campers and birders who all cherish open lands–whatever their politics.

Fourth, we need to make the case for urgency. If public land advocates don’t stand strong now to protect nature, who will? Right now, we need to defend the water, the trees, and the wildlife on the public lands for generations to come. We need to tell our representatives in Congress that their duty is to never sell out the public estate.

Fifth, standing up for nature brings out the best of humanity. The framing of the “debate” in Congress and the public is always human-centric, the same approach that has caused so much environmental destruction throughout the world. Ignored is what would be lost, from water storage and wetlands to places for wildlife to live out their lives. We must tell the story of what nature brings us just by being left alone.

Compared to most developed countries, America is extraordinarily rich in public lands that everyone can enjoy, no matter their income or their background. Thanks to those who came before us who knew their value, Congress set aside these unique places as designated wilderness, national parks and monuments, and other special types of land, not to mention national forests and Bureau of Land Management lands that serve multiple purposes. That means all of us can roam land that has no fences or “No Trespassing” signs.

Humility and restraint, not privatization and exploitation, are the words that unite us as we fight to preserve our public lands. This is the public’s land, and let’s keep it that way forever.

T. A. Barron is a contributor to Writers on the Range, writersontherange.org, an independent nonprofit dedicated to spurring lively conversation about the West. He is a board member of World Wildlife Fund and The Wilderness Society, and the author of more than 30 books.

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We’re writing in response to the recent opinion piece published by a member of our board, Regent Wanda James. While we would prefer not to debate this issue on the pages of The Denver Post, her accusations compel us to respond publicly.

Before we get into the specifics, we want to state clearly and unequivocally that actions already taken and being contemplated by the University of Colorado Board of Regents are not efforts to silence Regent James.

Instead, our actions stem from her own words publicly touting her efforts to pull funding from the University, which may violate a Regent’s legal and ethical obligations to act in the University’s best interest.

Our board is a self-governing body, which means it is our obligation to review any concerns that a Regent may have violated the policies and rules that govern our conduct. No one else is in a position to do this for us. As a body, we draft and pass laws and policies that set expectations for our entire CU Community, up to and including the Regents.

That’s why, when we receive credible information that one of us has violated a Regent law or policy, it’s critical that we act on that information. In this case, we are reviewing actions Regent James may have taken following the resolution of her criticisms of a public health campaign being carried out by the Colorado School of Public Health.

At the time of the campaign’s launch, Regent James raised concerns that some of the images used by the campaign were racially insensitive and furthered misperceptions about the impact on the Black community. Her assessment was met with support, swift action was taken, apologies were made and the images were removed.

As she is aware, it is her subsequent actions and her own public statements in multiple interviews to several news outlets advocating the removal of funding from the University that is the subject of the review.

Her attempts to redirect the conversation are called into question by her own public comments on the topic. It is these statements that led some on the board to question whether she had violated Regent laws and policies. No one is questioning her right to voice concerns about the public health campaign or advocate for changes. In fact, her issues regarding the campaign materials were resolved months ago. It’s what she said she did afterwards to reduce funding to the Colorado School of Public Health that gives rise to this review.

We are sorry to have to address this issue in this way, but to allow her public accusations and misstatements to go unanswered was something we could not do. There are much better ways for CU leadership to use its time and financial resources.

But our status as a self-governing board requires this action and financial expense to ensure we are following our own rules and policies in a transparent way. The Board is committed to providing members of the public access to the report from this review at the conclusion of the process which we expect to be within the next several weeks.

Callie Rennison is the chairwoman of the University of Colorado Board of Regents. Ken Montera is the vice chairman of the University of Colorado Board of Regents.

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I grew up in a small town an hour outside of Alabama, where the only thing anyone took pride in was a Starbucks opening when I was in my teens. I didn’t grow up with queer role models. The only gay people I saw were wild caricatures — villains in Disney movies or campy sitcom stereotypes. Queerness was presented as something wrong, shameful or evil.

Even with my mother’s support, the thought that I might be gay didn’t occur to me until I had my first sexual experience at 15. That moment was a true awakening. In my college years I fell hard into gay culture — Queer as Folk, nightclubs, Pride events — building my identity around parties, desire, and a craving for validation.

For Pride events, I starved myself, worked out obsessively, and took horse hormones, hoping to achieve a form of self-love that never came. Pride, as I experienced it then, didn’t feel inclusive — it felt like a popularity contest. I didn’t realize how much privilege I carried as a cis, white-presenting queer man. I only knew I still secretly hated my reflection.

What many people don’t realize is that queer people are subjected to judgment from the moment we’re born. Over time, that external judgment often becomes internalized, shaping how we see ourselves and how we relate to others in our community. Undoing those narratives is a lifelong, uphill journey.

With time came perspective. The parties eventually felt hollow. My social circle lacked diversity. I came to discover that Pride didn’t start with glitter and floats — it began with a riot. The 1969 Stonewall Uprising, led by trans women of color like Marsha P. Johnson, sparked a movement. Pride began as resistance, not rainbow-branded cereal with marshmallows shaped like poppers and pup masks.

I spoke to my friend Paul Williams about this topic. He said this: “The intersectionality of being a Black gay man in this country — where ‘inclusion’ is often more slogan than reality — can be taxing. Pride Month can feel like a spotlight on a celebration I’m not always sure includes me, or people who look like me. We, as a community, have work to do.”

So here’s what I say: Start the conversation. Use your privilege — whether it’s beauty, race, money, or confidence — to reach out to someone who might feel invisible. Stop seeking validation from the few at the top. We’re all lonely. Connection isn’t just kindness — it’s our duty to our community.

After my mom died in 2017, I withdrew from everything. Then I went to Southern Decadence in New Orleans. At first, I judged it — sex in the streets, wild displays — but then the edible kicked in. Suddenly, I saw it differently: joy, chosen family, defiant celebration in a world that wants us quiet. I realized that these were my people and they deserved to express themselves freely.

There’s always backlash about Pride being “too sexual” or “not family-friendly.” But our sexuality has always been used against us — it’s what got us arrested, pathologized, and murdered. Queer expression in all its forms is powerful. It’s defiance. If that looks like people in jockstraps dancing in the street, so be it.

In 2019, my best friend Nadia Evangelina and I created alter egos for Pride: Gajax the gay gladiator and Transgalactica the trans alien warrior. We wore glittery armor to Denver Pride and connected with strangers immediately based on spectacle alone. That connection deepened at World Pride in New York City, where we accidentally ended up marching at the front. Those costumes gave people an excuse to come up and talk to us. By dressing up, we became creators of inclusion.

During COVID, I taught myself animation and created queer political cartoons using our alter egos. That became Pride Warriors — my way of shouting into the void with purpose.

Today, with the help of a team, I run Haus of Other, a creative collective hosting queer events to build community. Through costumes and art, we offer joyful acts of defiance and radical inclusion. My hope is that people will rally behind my message, and the Pride Warriors can be used as a tool to unite the LGBTQA community, both with each other, and with other marginalised and oppressed communities such as people of color, immigrants, and women. That is the only way we can defeat the chokehold of the white patriarchy.

To me, Pride means looking in the mirror and feeling peace. That kind of self-acceptance is something we have to build and protect together. Pride isn’t an event. It’s a goal. It’s a shared effort to ensure no one feels excluded, especially BIPOC, trans, disabled, and nonbinary folks who have always been at the heart of our movement.

Pride isn’t lost. But we have to fight for it. And we start by choosing inclusion and practicing it every single day. That is how we honor our trancestors, and all the queer people who fought for survival so that one day we might fight for inclusion.

Gary Adrian Randall is a Denver-based writer, artist, and community organizer. He began his writing career in New York City, contributing essays and cultural commentary to outlets like TheLuxurySpot.com, with a focus on identity, relationships, and social issues. He is the co-founder of Haus of Other, a local queer creative collective that produces community-centered events to foster visibility, connection, and support for LGBTQ+ causes.

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Congress is currently debating a budget that could have irreversible consequences for Colorado’s cultural heritage. The proposed 2026 budget promises to close National Park sites and nearly eliminate the Historic Preservation Fund, which is part of this nation’s 60-year commitment to preserving America’s heritage.

Our American story is written into our nation’s cities, towns, wild spaces, and our beloved national park sites, such as Camp Amache and Sand Creek Massacre National Historic Sites in Colorado.

This May, I attended the annual pilgrimage to the Amache National Historic Site, where 10,000 Japanese Americans were incarcerated near Granada, Colorado, during World War II. There is an undeniable historical lesson to be found when you visit this place. The sensory experiences of the high prairie, the ritual reading of names of those who died, the scratchy smell of sage and rabbit brush, and the unyielding horizon intersect with the inarguable foundations of concrete barracks that were once the cramped residences of the thousands forced to live there.

Camp Amache is connected to the Sand Creek Massacre National Historic Site, situated less than 50 miles away. It is named after Amache Ochinee Prowers, a Cheyenne woman whose father, Lone Bear was murdered – along with more than 230 other Cheyenne and Arapaho people murdered at Sand Creek by U.S. Troops less than 100 years earlier.

Both Camp Amache and the Sand Creek Massacre are American stories. The survivors and descendants of these histories know that preserving these historic places solidifies their critical memories in our collective American consciousness, carrying them forward into our shared future.

In 1966, Congress passed the National Historic Preservation Act as a shared national intention and commitment to preserve places that are important to the American people. The Preservation Act was designed specifically as a collaboration among federal, state and Tribal governments, as well as local communities, because it recognizes that those who are closest to the sites–both geographically and historically — have the most knowledge.

The Act empowers local communities by designating community assets to the National Register of Historic Places, opening pathways for revitalization, providing consultation on federal projects, and utilizing preservation tax credits to create housing and economic opportunities. As State Historic Preservation Officer, I witness the power of preservation to catalyze opportunities everyday in Colorado communities. This past year, alone, we have listed dozens of historic sites on the National Register, everything from the Manzanola United Methodist Church to the Colorado Petroleum Club.

Yet, on the cusp of our nation’s 250th anniversary, we are observing an unprecedented defunding and dismantling of the tools that have preserved historic sites, revitalized communities, safeguarded cultural resources, fostered understanding, shared American stories, and connected us across our nation.

Each year, Congress appropriates funds for State and Tribal Historic Preservation Offices. State Offices, like the one that is part of History Colorado, match the funds at a minimum of 40%. Unfortunately, despite this appropriation, preservation funds are not flowing, and Colorado’s irreplaceable history, heritage, and culture–and the staff who work to preserve and protect them — are in jeopardy.

Additionally, the proposed 2026 federal budget includes the near-elimination of the Historic Preservation Fund, which would decimate our country’s long-held commitment to preserving America’s heritage, disregard local knowledge, and significantly diminish local control. The proposed budget also cuts nearly $1 billion from National Park Service operations, which hurts myriad preservation activities as fundamental as the National Register of Historic Places, and could even result in the closure or elimination of park sites, possibly including meaningful but smaller sites in Colorado.

This is an all-hands-on-deck moment. As is often the case in preservation, we are working to ensure the future of the irreplaceable. We must work strategically and in solidarity to protect and preserve all that we have built together across generations. Contact your Congressional representatives and tell them to 1) immediately disperse 2025 Historic Preservation Funds, 2) robustly fund the 2026 Historic Preservation Fund, and 3) protect our beloved National Park sites for the future.

Dawn DiPrince is the president and CEO of History Colorado and State Historic Preservation Officer.

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