Part 1: When Equity Masks Extraction—Is Tribal Co-Stewardship Fueling Logging in Disguise?

They’re calling it a new era in conservation. Federal agencies are racing to sign “Tribal Co-Stewardship” agreements, and mainstream environmental organizations are hailing it as the future of land management. It’s the perfect storm of progress: equity, justice, sovereignty, and ecological restoration—all in one package.

But when you dig into what’s actually happening on the ground, a more complicated story emerges—one where restoration blurs into resource extraction, and where Tribes risk being positioned not as co-leaders, but as the public face of accelerated timber harvest.

Over the past decade, Tribal Co-Stewardship and Tribal-Led Conservation have been promoted as pathways to repair centuries of exclusion and degradation. These approaches are supposed to elevate Indigenous knowledge systems, restore sovereignty, and build resilience in fire-prone forests.

Yet increasingly, they’re being tied to agency-driven forest thinning and commercial logging—raising uncomfortable questions about who’s setting the agenda, and who benefits most.

This first installment in a three-part investigation examines how Tribal partnerships are being framed, funded, and in some cases, leveraged—intentionally or not—to advance large-scale timber projects under the banner of inclusion.

Tribal Co-Stewardship vs. Tribal-Led Conservation: Why Language Matters

While often used interchangeably, Tribal Co-Stewardship and Tribal-Led Conservation represent fundamentally different approaches.

• Tribal Co-Stewardship refers to the shared management of federal lands by U.S. agencies—like the Forest Service or Bureau of Land Management—and sovereign Tribal governments. These partnerships are typically formalized through memorandums of understanding and encouraged by Executive Orders like 13985 (Equity in Federal Policy) and 14008 (Tackling the Climate Crisis at Home and Abroad).

  
  

• Tribal-Led Conservation refers to efforts initiated, governed, and guided by Tribes themselves—often on sovereign lands or through coalitions asserting Indigenous authority. These initiatives center cultural values, self-determination, and long-term stewardship priorities.

Both models emerged to push back against a legacy of dispossession and exclusion. Both have potential to support land justice. But as co-stewardship rapidly expands, particularly in Western fire-adapted forests, timber harvest is increasingly embedded within the conservation narrative—and not always by Tribal design.

Where “Forest Health” Becomes a Back Door for Logging

Co-stewardship projects frequently focus on “forest health,” “fuels reduction,” and “wildfire resilience”—terms that carry both ecological and political weight. In practice, these concepts are often operationalized through mechanical thinning, road construction, prescribed fire, and yes, commercial timber harvest.

According to the USDA, the Forest Service signed more than 120 new co-stewardship agreements in 2023 alone—a threefold increase over the previous year. Over $68 million was invested in these efforts, many of which include removing dense stands, thinning overstocked forests, and constructing access roads—all common precursors to timber sales (USDA, 2023 Co-Stewardship Report).

While these treatments can support ecological goals, the line between restoration and revenue is often blurry. Project descriptions regularly use vague language like “resilience,” “treatments,” or “forest improvement,” with little transparency about how much timber will be removed, sold, or monetized. And when these projects are wrapped in the optics of equity, they become difficult to challenge—even when the outcomes mirror business-as-usual logging.

A visual reckoning: On the left, a Native man stands rooted in ancestral forest; on the right, clear-cut devastation reveals what’s at stake when equity is used to justify extraction.

When Timber Is Framed as Indigenous Stewardship

This isn’t a critique of Tribal forestry. In fact, Tribes have some of the strongest track records in sustainable land management.

• The Menominee Tribe of Wisconsin has managed its forest for over 150 years. They’ve harvested nearly twice the original timber volume, yet their forest now holds 40% more standing volume than when management began. Their approach is rooted in cultural continuity and ecological balance (Yale Environment 360).

  
  

• The Coquille Indian Tribe in Oregon manages roughly 5,400 acres under its own forest management framework authorized by the National Indian Forest Resources Management Act (NIFRMA)—not the Northwest Forest Plan. Since the passage of the 2018 Western Oregon Tribal Fairness Act, the Tribe has full sovereignty over its forest, allowing it to implement practices that reflect both ecological values and economic goals (USDA Northwest Forest Plan 25-Year Report).

These models work because they are Tribal-led, not federally directed. The concern arises when federal co-stewardship efforts adopt Indigenous language and credibility while quietly advancing agency priorities—especially when timber is the unstated goal.

The Public Messaging: What Some Really Mean by “Partnership”

A March 2025 comment from the Forest Policy Pub blog exposed the quiet calculus behind some of the co-stewardship cheerleading:

“I’m all for Tribal Co-Stewardship and/or Tribal Lead Conservation, because it means more Timber Harvesting. Not what the White-person Privileged Class So-called Environmental Organizations want. So It’s a good thing.” — Joseph, March 17, 2025

As uncomfortable as this is, it’s not an isolated sentiment. In some regions, agencies and industry players are openly optimistic that Tribal partnerships will bypass environmental pushback. The logic? Indigenous involvement provides a moral shield for timber projects that might otherwise face public scrutiny or litigation.

This isn’t about partnership. It’s about using Tribes to push through logging without the backlash. Real sovereignty means power—not just putting an Indigenous face on someone else’s plan.

When Inclusion Becomes Strategy, Not Solidarity

The desire to correct centuries of exclusion is valid and long overdue. But inclusion, without shared power, can easily become another tool of exploitation.

We’re already seeing:

• Agreements signed under funding pressure, where Tribes must accept terms quickly or risk losing restoration dollars.

  
  

• Environmental assessments fast-tracked with minimal Tribal oversight, but labeled “inclusive” due to the partnership structure.

  
  

• Criticism dismissed as elitism, with conservationists branded as “privileged obstructionists” for questioning project intensity—even when concerns are ecological, not political.

These dynamics weaponize inclusion. They treat Indigenous participation as a tactic to reduce opposition—not a mandate to restructure how conservation is done.

Restoring Integrity to Co-Stewardship

Tribal co-stewardship could be revolutionary—but only if it’s designed, governed, and led with full transparency and mutual accountability. Without that, it becomes a Trojan horse for extraction, dressed in the language of healing.

Key questions we must keep asking:

• Are Tribes meaningfully co-authoring these projects—or merely endorsing pre-determined agency plans?

  
  

• Is timber removal an outcome of ecological necessity—or an economic driver dressed as stewardship?

  
  

• Who benefits most—from funding, from the logs, from the narrative?

In Part 2 of this series, we’ll look at the environmental review loopholes that often accompany these projects, and how watchdogs are navigating the increasingly murky terrain of “inclusive” extraction.

Because true sovereignty is about decision-making—not just participation. And conservation, without consent, is still colonialism.