In Alaska, a graphite mine races toward approval without the required tribal consent

The majestic Kigluaik Mountains rise dramatically over the Seward Peninsula in western Alaska, their rugged peaks standing as silent witnesses to the passage of time. For generations, the Inupiaq people have interpreted these formations as a narrative tapestry, reflecting fire, fracture, and the relentless sculpting power of glaciers. As autumn descends, the talus slopes shimmer under the soft sunlight, while meltwater cascades from snowfields into pristine streams, weaving a complex network of caribou trails across the surrounding tundra.

Yet hidden within these ancient valleys is a treasure: one of the world’s most extensive graphite deposits. Formed over centuries through immense heat and pressure, these black, crystalline sheets have garnered the interest of Canadian mining company Graphite One. Their aim is to extract this valuable mineral for use in batteries and other strategic applications, despite significant pushback from local communities and ongoing concerns about the absence of required consultations with nearby tribes, including Teller, Brevig Mission, and Mary’s Igloo.

The proposed development site feeds into the Imuruk Basin, a crucial estuary nourished by four rivers that supports one of the continent’s richest ecosystems. This area is vital for hunting and fishing, playing a pivotal role in the food security of local residents and sustaining the traditions that bind them to their land. Lucy Oquilluk, president of the Mary’s Igloo Traditional Council, expressed her community’s frustration, stating that neglecting to include their voices deprives them of the chance to address issues directly affecting their lives.

Following President Trump’s declaration of emergency powers to accelerate the production of critical minerals, the federal government has expedited Graphite One’s permitting process. However, three of the four local tribes oppose the project vehemently, criticizing the rushed public review process. The only tribe not opposing the development, Nome Eskimo Community, did not respond to interview requests.

In June, Graphite One made history as the first Alaskan mine to qualify for FAST-41, a federal initiative designed to speed up approval decisions for critical infrastructures. This allows environmental reviews to occur in as little as 30 days, significantly altering the timeline for various federal permits that involve multiple agencies including the Army Corps of Engineers and the Bureau of Land Management.

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Graphite One envisions an expansive operation within the Kigluaik, consisting of a 30-mile stretch of public road and an additional 17 miles of new road development. This construction will inevitably intersect with salmon streams and archaeological sites and requires transporting the ore throughout the year to a temporary holding facility in Nome, pending a deep-water port construction. From there, the ore will travel to a planned processing facility in Ohio, to be developed on a brownfield site formerly utilized by the Department of Defense.

The demand for graphite is escalating due to its significance in the battery industry and national defense, with China largely dominating the global market. CEO of Graphite One, Anthony Huston, stated that establishing a fully U.S.-based graphite supply chain is essential for national security. Paradoxically, the company’s plans still depend heavily on a Chinese manufacturer, Hunan Chenyu Fuji New Energy Technology Co., for construction and operational assistance, exposing the complexity of what is termed a “domestic” supply chain being entangled within global networks.

Graphite One’s endeavor has garnered substantial subsidies, propelled by claims it will reduce reliance on foreign Graphite. Republican Governor Mike Dunleavy designated the project as a high-priority infrastructure project in 2019, streamlining permitting processes. In 2023, the U.S. Department of Defense supported the initiative with a $37.5 million grant as part of the Inflation Reduction Act, aimed at bolstering domestic critical mineral supplies and estimating substantial revenue for the Canadian company. Notably, additional financial support has come through a recent $4.7 million grant toward a graphite foam fire suppressant, alongside negotiations with the Export-Import Bank of the United States for $570 million in funding.

This surge in governmental backing is ushering in a wave of mining projects across Alaska, with state officials advocating for expedited development. Recently, Governor Dunleavy declared that if any state agency fails to meet a permitting deadline, automatic project approval would follow, raising serious regulatory concerns. Just this month, a quick approval for a mining operation by the United States Antimony Corporation near Fairbanks was granted, happening a mere three months after acquisition.

Graphite One’s rapid pace has marginalized tribal input, with officials from three nearby Inupiaq communities expressing dissatisfaction over the lack of required consultations with the federal government before funding. The U.S. Department of Defense only responded after intervention from the White House. The acknowledgment of their oversight came many months late, but still without providing the promised meeting notes. The feasibility study created under federal funding notably tries to sideline tribes as “cooperating agencies,” which restricts their chances of shaping project plans or environmental evaluations. Austin Ahmasuk, a Nome Eskimo Community tribal member, has stated unequivocally, “This violates free, prior, and informed consent,” as laid out in the U.N. Declaration on the Rights of Indigenous Peoples.

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As the U.S. Army Corps of Engineers adapted its processes, initial two-year environmental reviews have been curtailed after a recent Supreme Court ruling narrowed the definition of “waters of the United States.” This prompted a rapid reevaluation timeline, despite Graphite One’s intentions to expand the mine size. The tribes insist on mandatory consultations prior to the issuance of crucial permits, yet results from the Corps have been ambiguous as the review has not yet confirmed a date for community meetings. Austin Ahmasuk expressed concern that expedited reviews have transformed consultations into mere formalities. “Even if these discussions happen, tribes will struggle to make any significant impact on the project,” he remarked.

Such consultations carry more than a legal obligation; they embody ethical responsibility. Various federal statutes and laws mandate tribal engagement in decisions impacting their land. Unfortunately, as demonstrated nationwide, critical mineral projects proceed with minimal Indigenous engagement. For instance, lithium mining at Thacker Pass in Nevada advanced without the requisite consent, similar to scenarios in Minnesota and Arizona where Indigenous peoples report being marginalized in ongoing discussions regarding mineral projects.

In contrast, Canada has begun enforcing meaningful consultations with Indigenous communities. Although regulations regarding mining abroad have limited scope, British Columbia has established precedents by incorporating Indigenous rights under the UN Declaration on the Rights of Indigenous Peoples within its laws.

Amid these evolving conversations surrounding Indigenous rights, communities around the Kigluaik Mountains openly voicing their opposition to Graphite One met on September 20. They deliberated over the “irreversible damage” they anticipate, the potential uptick in violence against women associated with an influx of workers in remote areas, and generational shifts to the local area. Concerns about the broader impact of the Trump administration’s executive order aimed at eliminating federal diversity and anti-discrimination policies were also prevalent, with community leaders expressing apprehension about job opportunities for local residents.

While some residents of Nome see potential economic benefits from the mine, dissent grows regarding the Bering Straits Native Corporation’s decision to invest $2 million in the venture without a shareholder vote. Nome Eskimo Community member Addy Ahmasuk emphasized, “The tribe holds a treaty responsibility and the right to consultation.” However, she cautioned that the corporation’s burgeoning influence over subsurface rights complicates the landscape of tribal sovereignty and may prioritize profit over community welfare.

The rapid pace of development poses additional concerns. Austin Ahmasuk warned that even during exploratory phases, the landscape is drastically changing, notably with new roads threatening cultural sites. “You can’t ignore the rich archaeological history embedded in this land,” he stated. He foresees how extensive infrastructure could disrupt wildlife habitats and impede access to cherished hunting and fishing locales, threatening the main sources of sustenance for many families.

Amid these external pressures, Addy Ahmasuk continues to champion her tribe’s narrative through grassroots organizing. She launched Sacred Kigluait, a movement focused on reviving and sharing traditional stories, aimed at reconciling the impacts of colonization and asserting the cultural significance of their land. She underscores that the fight extends beyond halting the mine; it’s about reinstating core stories and cultural connections to the land that the community holds dear. “It’s not just about stopping a mine,” she asserts. “It’s a matter of coming together to reminisce and strengthen our creation stories and reclaiming our relationship with this land.”