The last mountain.

The Mt. Graham controversy raises fundamental questions about whether we humans should reach for the stars without coming to know the land at our feet.

If you want to travel from Mexico to Canada, but have only half a day to spend, consider visiting Mt. Graham, 75 miles northeast of Tucson, Arizona. This "sky island," created 11,000 years ago when the last glaciers receded, contains five of America's seven biological zones. Ascending from the Lower Sonoran desert to the Hudsonian spruce-fir forest, the mountain is home to 18 plant and animal species that can be found nowhere else. Draw nearer to the 10,720-foot summit, and you will find yourself in a battle zone between heaven and earth.

Fanning the flames of controversy is the University of Arizona's plan to build Mt. Graham International Observatory, a world-class group of three to seven telescopes. Subplot one: The Mt. Graham red squirrel, (Tamiasciurus hudsonicus grahamensis), is an endangered subspecies whose only earthly habitat is the summit area. This is the same red squirrel that caused former Interior Secretary Manuel Lujan, overseer of the Endangered Species Act, to publicly question whether we need to save every subspecies of creation. Subplot two: The mountain is sacred to the San Carlos Apache Indians. Dzil nchaa si an, or Big-Seated Mountain as traditional Apaches call it, is home to the ga'an spirit dancers. The Apaches want their prayers to flow unimpeded from the summit.

Despite the sign "Coronado National Forest--Land of Many Uses," the controversy is not simply a matter of multiple land use. Passions have been enflamed about nothing less than inquiry into the mysteries of the universe, the preservation of a unique ecosystem, and freedom of religion. Ultimately, Mt. Graham raises fundamental ethical questions about the very relationship between people, the land, and the cosmos.

THE SETTING

Beginning in at least the 1600s, several Apache tribes lived and traveled in the area around Mt. Graham. During the so-called Indian Wars in the mid-to-late 1800s, the mountain variously provided sanctuary to the Apaches and served as a summer recuperation area for ailing U.S. soldiers and their families. Heliographic Peak is named for the Army heliograph network used during the last year of the wars, when signals from mirrors were reflected across southern Arizona. Now the observatory itself involves sophisticated mirror technology.

Reflecting Apache territorial patterns, the original San Carlos Apache Reservation encompassed Dzil nchaa si an. But, as happened so often, the U.S. decided it wanted the land--the mountain for logging, and the adjacent Gila River valley for mining and agriculture. In 1873, the Apaches lost their mountain.

Today Mt. Graham is a model of the U.S. Forest Service's policy of multiple use. More than 200,000 visitors come each year to savor the cool mountain air and the variety of landscapes. Most frequent the lower elevations and Riggs Lake. There are 70 communications transmitters on Heliographic Peak; six campgrounds, 94 cabins, two artificial lakes, one Bible camp, and sundry other uses spread over 201,000 acres. A crow could fly 10 miles to cover the relatively high elevations, although the highest zone--that of the spruce-fir forest--is limited to 1,300 acres.

THE OBSERVATORY

The University of Arizona has played a preeminent role in catapulting southern Arizona to the status of a world astronomy center. The new wave of advanced telescopes requires higher altitudes than are found at existing sites, and the university surveyed 280 possible locations to house its own new telescopes. Of three astronomically preferred locations, only Mt. Graham was not in a designated wilderness or national monument. Its other attributes: clear daytime and dark nighttime skies, low water vapor, low wind, moderate operating cost, an access road, and presumed availability, given the precedent of sitting telescopes on Forest Service land.

Not even the site's qualifications are spared dispute, though. Robert Witzemann, chair of the Maricopa County Audubon Society's conservation committee, points to an analysis by two scientists at the National Optical Astronomical Observatories (NOAO). This study indicated that Mt. Graham's "merit ranking" was only 38th of 57 sites reviewed. But Peter Strittmatter, director of the university's Steward Observatory, praises the site's excellence. "Mt. Graham is expected to at least match the best image sharpness demonstrated anywhere in the continental U.S.," he stresses, citing numerous limitations in the NOAO study.

The kind of research to be carried out at Mt. Graham is the stuff of which scientific dreams are made: studies of the early universe and galaxy formation from up to 10 billion years ago, star and planet formation in the Milky Way and other galaxies, ultra high-resolution imaging, and the search for other planetary systems in the universe. These would be conducted in Phase I of the observatory plan with the Vatican Advanced Technology Telescope, a collaboration with the Vatican Observatory, and with the Submillimiter Telescope, a collaboration with the Max Planck Institute for Radioastronomy in Germany. These telescopes are scheduled to open this spring.

The third telescope in the Phase I portion is the Columbus Project, a partnership with Italy's Arcetri Astrophysical Observatory and other groups. In the advanced stage of design and technology development, the Columbus Project's discoveries are, according to the university, "sure to change in a profound way how we think about the universe, about planet earth, and perhaps about the human race itself."

"The pressure to get on with the observatory is immense," says Strittmatter of the international astronomy community's reaction to the upcoming opportunities. "People around here are all dreaming of the day it will open." But others are dreaming of the day the telescopes will be torn down.

ENTER THE RED SQUIRREL

Is the observatory the proverbial straw that will break, in this instance, the red squirrel's comeback? Or is the observatory, by virtue of the associated attention to and monitoring of the squirrel, the salvation of this endangered subspecies?

The Mt. Graham red squirrel, genetically isolated within its sky island, faces a precarious future as a result of the previous logging of some of its habitat. The mammal is one of 25 currently recognized subspecies of red squirrels in North America. Listed as an endangered species in 1987, regular estimates of its population averaged as low as 123 in 1989, but rose steadily to a high of 377 in spring 1992, before dropping to 332 last fall.

In 1988, when Congress set aside 150 acres for a scientific research site on Mt. Graham's Emerald Peak, Phase I of the observatory was limited to nine acres. Phase II, the realization of which is dependent on further biological studies, was limited to another 13 acres. But there is fierce debate about the impacts of this seemingly small allocation. Not only are there major differences in estimates of excellent squirrel habitat (472 acres by the Forest Service versus 2,036 acres by the university), there are also disagreements about the rippling effects of habitat reduction. All this is compounded by uncertainty about the exact territory occupied by the squirrel and by the university's recently stated preference to move the Columbus project to a different peak.

What has so vehemently fueled environmentalists' concerns is the way Congress approved the observatory. Prior to the Forest Service's final environmental impact statement, and based on a biological opinion by the U.S. Fish and Wildlife Service, Congress attached a rider to the 1988 Arizona-Idaho Conservation Act (AICA). The rider stated that provisions of the Endangered Species Act and the National Environmental Policy Act shall be deemed satisfied with respect to the observatory.

"I can't speculate on what the final environmental impact statement would have recommended if Congress hadn't passed AICA," says James Abbott, supervisor of the Coronado National Forest. "But whatever the recommendation, the matter would surely have gone to court." Hence, Congress' unusual action, taken so that construction could proceed.

AICA caused national environmental groups to whirl into action. Mark Hughes, staff attorney for the Sierra Club Legal Defense Fund, comments that "AICA was completely irresponsible, a perversion of the system. If I were one of the legislators passing it, I would hang my head in shame."

In 1990, observatory opponents forced Congress to hold oversight hearings. The two Fish and Wildlife Service biologists who had written the biological opinion testified that they had been ordered, against their professional judgment, to conclude that the observatory would not harm the squirrel. And their regional director was caught explaining to Congress that he had allowed non-biological information--that is, the prestige and importance of the observatory--to affect the finding, contrary to provisions of the Endangered Species Act.

For three years, the Sierra Club Legal Defense Fund has lost most of its court challenges because of judicial support of AICA. Two remaining counts concern what Hughes calls the university's scientifically indefensible monitoring of the red squirrel. According to Steve Emerine, associate director of the university's public information office, the university has, during the first three years, spent double the required minimum of $100,000 per year on monitoring (which must occur for at least 10 years).

"The most recent squirrel numbers show that the observatory is not having a negative effect," notes Emerine. "Although the fall 1992 numbers were down somewhat from the earlier numbers, the recent estimate is still about double that of 1989." But Hughes argues that every party except the university agrees that clearing part of the habitat harms the squirrels. "As soon as someone really studies the impacts of the observatory on the squirrel--and no one's done this--the project will be dead," he says.

THE APACHES' SACRED GROUND

Ola Cassadore Davis, a San Carlos Apache, has matched the astronomers' figurative dreams of scientific inquiry with her own literal dream of saving the sacred mountain. Thus was formed the Apache Survival Coalition, with Davis as chairperson. Dzil nchaa si an is "of vital importance for maintaining the integrity" of cultural traditions, according to a 1990 resolution passed unanimously by the San Carlos Tribal Council. Elders, as well as medicine men and women, use the mountain for religious activities. The ga'an spirit dancers teach the medicine people how to heal the sick through song and prayer, and how to apply special herbs and plants found only on Dzil nchaa si an.

In addition, the mountain contains ancient religious shrines and burial grounds. What is difficult for outsiders to appreciate, though, is that the entire mountain, not just a given site, is considered sacred. "It's the mountain that gives life, sustains life," emphasizes coalition vice chairman Ernest Victor Jr. "If God created what is on the earth--holy places--it is wrong for man to desecrate them."

The Apaches accept for now the mountain's other uses. What makes the observatory different, Victor claims, is that, "Nature will reclaim the other uses. The communications towers have only a small amount of cement, and the tree roots will go through the pavement. But the concrete of the telescopes will be there for centuries--|the mountain~ will be scarred for centuries."

The Vatican has come under attack by the coalition for two reasons. The first is the irony of the Vatican building its telescope after Pope John Paul II visited the Southwest in 1986 and urged American Indians to fight for land rights. The second is the affront to traditional religious interests perceived in this official statement by the Reverend George Coyne, director of the Vatican Observatory: "We are not convinced. . . that Mt. Graham possesses a sacred character which precludes responsible and legitimate use of the land. . . there is to the best of our knowledge no religious or cultural significance to the specific observatory site."

Exacerbating the Apaches' uphill fight is the fact that they did not take their plight public until 1989, in part because Native Americans are extremely reluctant to openly discuss sacred matters. Although Forest Service records show that notifications about the environmental reviews started in 1985, San Carlos tribal records do not indicate the notifications were received. Yet, according to the Forest Service's Abbott, "It's hard for me to imagine that anyone was not aware of the proposed observatory."

In 1987, a group called Coalition for the Preservation of Mt. Graham did send the Forest Service a letter indicating that traditional Apaches used the mountain for ceremonial purposes. According to Apache Survival Coalition attorney Patricia Cummings, the Forest Service's response was that the information didn't come from the San Carlos Apaches. "But this is an inappropriate response," Cummings notes. "The Forest Service is required to follow up, regardless of who provides the information."

The coalition's lawsuit against the Forest Service cites provisions of the American Indian Religious Freedom Act (AIRFA), the National Environmental Policy Act, the National Historic Preservation Act, the National Forest Management Act, and the First and Third Amendments of the U.S. Constitution. The gist of the suit concerns the broad element of religious freedom, and the technical element of the requisite cultural surveys. However, the toothlessness of AIRFA has already resulted in the U.S. Supreme Court's placing strict interpretations on religious freedom, including access to sacred sites.

As for the cultural surveys, Cummings claims none have been undertaken. An archaeological survey was conducted for the Forest Service by the university, but Cummings claims this survey is insufficient and misses the point, especially in the case of Apaches, who do not leave physical evidence of their shrines. The Forest Service, however, believes it has satisfied all aspects of the cultural survey provisions.

The district court ruled against the coalition in May 1992, primarily on the grounds that the Forest Service had complied with all laws. But the turbulent history of the Apaches, and the appointment of judges by politicians who unanimously favor the observatory, make some individuals skeptical of the Apache's chances for a fair hearing in Arizona. The court of appeals in San Francisco is expected to rule this summer.

University spokesman Emerine hopes that some access solution can be found. To the coalition, the issue is not access, which already exists, but respect for the mountain. As Apache Burnette Rope stresses, "If the spirits leave, we don't know where they'll go."

A LAND ETHIC

Regardless of the outcome of judicial appeals, it will likely be quite some time, if ever, before the Mt. Graham controversy is "resolved." Activist Michael D'Amico has spent substantial time in Europe garnering public and private resolutions opposed to European participation in the observatory. "No partners, no projects," is his motto. The Sky Island Alliance has proposed that Congress and the U.S. Forest Service designate eight of Arizona's sky islands, including Mt. Graham, as biodiversity conservation areas. And efforts are being made by Friends of Mt. Graham and other groups to reopen the AICA issue in the new U.S. Congress.

Ask the average person in Arizona what he or she thinks of the Mt. Graham controversy, and the response is likely to be that there is enough room on the mountain for all the interests to coexist. In other words, we can have it all.

Or can we? At the heart of the controversy is America's failure to come to grips with broad issues of land ethics. Aldo Leopold urged us to become plain members and citizens of the land community, rather than conquerors of it. The Vatican Observatory was established in part to acknowledge the centuries-old criticism of the Holy See's forcing Galileo to deny that the sun, not the earth, was the center of the solar system. Now the debate is increasingly about whether humans are at the center of the earth community or are one among many at the center.

In America's relentless march to populate the sun-kissed Southwest, differently held ethical constructs clash intensely. Indeed, at the 1973 dedication of the University of Arizona's observatory on Mt. Hopkins, former Arizona Representative Morris Udall warned the astronomical community that this was its last mountain--enough mountains had been gobbled up.

The Mt. Graham controversy pits astronomers who revere the skies through technology against a small mammal with a cloudy future, and against Apaches who engage the heavens with only their eyes and hearts. Mainstream society locks away its equivalent of sacred lands in wilderness designations. But until our land ethic also embraces whole ecosystems, sacred Indian lands, and other areas--the foundation of both our physical and spiritual existences--controversies like Mt. Graham will continue to be addressed in a less than comprehensive fashion. The ultimate answer to Mt. Graham and to the relationship between humans and nature has not yet been approached.

Evelyn Martin is a Fellow with the Center for Respect of Life and the Environment in Washington, DC.