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years later, the Colorado Springs newspapers are still viewed by most as the pro-army mouthpiece and the Pueblo Cheiftain and smaller papers in Trinidad and LaJunta—the papers read in towns like Kim—are still on the side of the ranchers. Last September, when a district judge rejected the army's plans to expand training on their existing Pinon Canyon Maneuver Site, stating that the environmental impacts of such an expansion had not been fully taken into account, the Pueblo Cheiftain editorial on the ruling was titled "Army Rebuffed." The title of a Colorado Springs Gazette editorial on the same ruling? "Judge's ruling under­scores Army's need for expanded Pinon Canyon."
The main argument raised in the Colorado Springs papers and in the opinions of Army representatives is that willing sellers should be able to sell their land. The ranchers, they say, are creating a culture of fear among their communities, such that their neighbors who might want to sell are too intimidated to step forward. If the army is only courting willing sellers, they say, aren't these ranchers standing in the way of people's property rights? Sounds reasonable at first. Except that, as the ranchers reply, with each small ranch sold, a chunk of their community would disappear. A ranch owner, who pays property taxes, buys goods in the local economy, and sends his kids to the local schools, would be replaced by: nothing. At most, 60% of the loss in property taxes would be repaid through government payment in lieu of taxes. That's not enough. Just the loss of a couple ranches could destroy a small community. Further, they argue, there's no way the Army would be content to make up its training ground on a patchwork of
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In 2008, seemingly shocked at the level of resistance
from the rural towns they planned to destroy,
the military hired a consulting firm
out of Colorado Springs
to help them salvage their image.
Robert Redford
willingly sold ranches. A few miles here and a few miles there, with miles of un­usable private land in between, would be of no use to the military unless they are planning, later, to seize the remaining ranches through condemnation and emi­nent domain. It's a perfectly logical argument and, as far as I know, the army has yet to refute it. Without eminent domain, the only hope for the military would be that, after a few land purchases, the sounds and stink of warfare on surrounding properties would eventually drive out the remaining ranchers—whose property, after the loss of their neighbors and the surrounding community, would have been devalued to practically nothing.
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But, for now, the army won't have a chance to test that theory. Though they certainly haven't exhausted their tactics—as I write this, Fort Carson is expand­ing the number of troops who will train on the PCMS, building more housing and ramping up infrastructure, all likely in defiance of the district Judge's order—the army has been crippled in its ability to pursue a land grab by three consecutive years of funding bans passed by the U.S. Congress, which prohibit any purchase of additional land for the Maneuver Site. The most recent ban, passed just last month, will be in effect for fiscal year 2011. For the moment, the ranchers have won.
And so time passes—more slowly, perhaps, out in the rural West, but still the passage of years since the beginning of the expansion fight has turned Americans' interest away from Southeastern Colorado. The local Sierra Club chapter hasn't updated its website in at least a year; Outside of the effected area, press coverage of Pinon Canyon has dwindled to practically nothing; and at least one Colorado Springs councilman has publicly dismissed the PCEOC as anti-army obstructionists who just can't admit that the anti-expansion fight is over. "The rancher-activists evidently don't just want the Army contained," Councilman Sean Paige states in an editorial, "they want it kicked out" of Colorado. But if there's one thing most of the citizens of Southeastern Colorado know, it's that the federal government doesn't need to be right to win; it just needs to outlast or outlive the opposition. The people can win a million battles, but the government only needs to win one—the last one. It's a desperate fight, almost doomed to lose, as ranchers are driven out of business by financial hardship and the passing of generations—but, for now, the people of Southeastern Colorado still run their cows along the fences of Highway 160; they still celebrate each of their victories around the tables of the Kim Outpost; and, with their "Not 4 Sale" signs still proudly displayed, they keep their eyes to the West and await the next battle.
Tonya Morton is a regular
contributor to The Zephyr.