⚖️ Justice Delayed, Construction Continued: The May 27th SunZia Ruling Explained
The Ninth Circuit's SunZia ruling gives Indigenous communities another day in court - but construction continues on sacred Apache and Tohono O'odham lands
😽 Keepin’ It Simple Summary for Younger Readers
👧🏾✊🏾👦🏾
🇺🇸 The government approved a massive power line project called SunZia that would carry 🌬️ wind energy across the Southwest, but it runs right through land that's been sacred to Native American tribes for thousands of years. 🏞️ Even though the tribes tried for over a decade to get the government to listen to their concerns and reroute the project, federal agencies ignored them and let construction begin. 🚧 This week, a federal appeals court said the tribes can continue their lawsuit to try to protect their ancestral lands, but the bulldozers are still running while the case plays out in court. 🚜 The tribes are now asking the 🇺🇳 United Nations for help because the US government broke its promises to respect Indigenous rights. 🤝
🗝️ Takeaways
⚖️ The Ninth Circuit Court revived a tribal lawsuit against the SunZia transmission line, ruling that the 2023 construction notice, not the 2015 route approval, triggered the statute of limitations
🏜️ The 550-mile SunZia project cuts through the San Pedro Valley, home to Indigenous peoples for over 12,000 years and sacred to multiple tribes, including Tohono O'odham and San Carlos Apache
💰 Despite being billed as clean energy infrastructure, the $11 billion project represents environmental colonialism - using climate urgency to justify destroying Indigenous sacred sites
🗣️ Tribes contacted federal agencies 21 separate times between 2009 and 2023, warning about cultural impacts but were ignored in favor of corporate interests
🌎 Frustrated by domestic courts, tribal advocates have taken their case to the United Nations, highlighting violations of international Indigenous rights standards
⚡ Courts Give Tribes a Lifeline While the Corporate Bulldozers Keep Rolling: The SunZia Ruling and What It Really Means for Nuestra Gente
Here in the borderlands, we know the script by heart.
Federal agencies promise "meaningful consultation" with tribes, then steamroll ahead with corporate-friendly projects while claiming Indigenous voices were heard. Courts dismiss lawsuits on technicalities. Politicians wear ribbon skirts for photo ops while signing off on the destruction of sacred sites.
The beat goes on, but this week's Ninth Circuit ruling on the SunZia transmission line offers something different - a crack in the colonial machinery, even if it's not the victory we need.
The Latest Chapter in a Very Old Story
On May 27, 2025, the Ninth Circuit Court of Appeals issued a ruling that should have tribal advocates cautiously optimistic—but only cautiously. According to the Tucson Sentinel, the three-judge panel found that the lower court "dismissed it based on the wrong standards" when it threw out the challenge brought by the Tohono O'odham Nation, San Carlos Apache Tribe, Archaeology Southwest, and the Center for Biological Diversity.
The legal victory may sound technical—the Bureau of Land Management's 2023 construction notice, rather than the 2015 route approval, constitutes the "final agency action" for statute of limitations purposes. But strip away the legalese, and here's what happened: federal agencies tried to run out the clock on tribal rights, and this time, the courts said no más.
The SunZia transmission line isn't just another infrastructure project. According to Courthouse News, this 550-mile behemoth would be "the largest renewable clean energy project in U.S. history," carrying wind energy from New Mexico to California. It sounds green, it sounds progressive, it sounds like the future.
What it also does is cut straight through the San Pedro Valley - an area that has been home to Indigenous peoples for more than 12,000 years.
When "Green Energy" Tramples Sacred Ground
The bitter irony burns like chile on an open wound.
This administration came into office promising to center environmental justice and Indigenous rights. Interior Secretary Deb Haaland, herself a member of the Laguna Pueblo, was supposed to be different. According to NPR, her confirmation was "as symbolic as it is historic" because the Interior Department “was long a tool of oppression against Indigenous peoples."
Yet here we are, after watching Haaland's department push through a project that Indigenous leaders have opposed since 2009. As Archaeology Southwest notes, "in at least 21 separate emails and meetings between 2009 and 2023, Tohono O'odham Nation officials advised USBLM of the need for cultural landscape studies to assess and avoid SunZia's threats to their homelands."
Twenty-one times. Let that sink in. Veintiuna veces the tribes told federal officials: this route will destroy our cultural landscape, our sacred sites, our connection to la tierra that has sustained us since before this country existed. Twenty-one times, they were told: Your concerns are noted, but the trains keep running on time.
The pattern is as predictable as the monsoon season. Corporate interests identify a profit opportunity. Federal agencies conduct "consultation" that amounts to checking boxes. Tribes object, citing treaties, federal law, and the principle of basic human dignity. Courts dismiss challenges on procedural grounds. Construction begins. Rinse and repeat.
The Machinery of Environmental Colonialism
What makes SunZia particularly insidious is how it weaponizes our own values against us. Who can argue against renewable energy in an era of climate crisis? The project promises to power 3 million American homes with clean wind energy. Pattern Energy, the Canadian company behind SunZia, has invested $11 billion in what they call an infrastructure undertaking "bigger than the Hoover Dam."
But as many of us in the environmental justice movement have learned, "green" doesn't automatically mean just. The same extractive mindset that gave us coal plants on the Navajo Nation and uranium mines in Apache territory now gives us wind farms and transmission lines that treat Indigenous lands as sacrifice zones for someone else's clean energy future.
The legal challenge centers on the National Historic Preservation Act (NHPA), which requires federal agencies to consider impacts on historic and cultural sites. According to the tribes' complaint, the Bureau of Land Management "incorrectly found no adverse effects from the impending construction" and violated previous agreements to consult on a treatment plan for a historic property.
No adverse effects. That's what BLM claimed about running a massive transmission line through a valley that has been continuously inhabited for twelve millennia. It's like saying the I-10 freeway has no adverse effects on a church because the building is still standing after you put eight lanes of traffic through the sanctuary.
The Consultation Charade
The failure here isn't just legal - it's moral and spiritual.
Tohono O'odham Chairman Verlon Jose put it plainly: "We do not disagree with renewable energy. We are for renewable energy. You know what the fix to this issue is? They could have rerouted it. But they didn't listen."
They didn’t listen. Three words that capture centuries of federal-tribal relations. The solution wasn't complex - route the transmission line through existing industrial corridors instead of pristine cultural landscapes. But that would cost more money and take more time, so federal agencies chose the path of least resistance: straight through Indigenous sacred sites.
As Elizabeth Lewis, the attorney representing the tribes, told the Ninth Circuit panel, the BLM "wielded the statute of limitations like a sword to vanquish the plaintiffs' claims the moment they became justiciable. This heads I win, tails you lose gamesmanship, which is all too familiar to the tribes, cannot be allowed to stand."
Heads I win, tails you lose. That's the federal government's approach to tribal consultation in a nutshell. Promise meaningful engagement, then claim tribes missed their chance to object when they actually try to engage meaningfully.
Haaland's Career Move: From Sacred Sites to Campaign Ads
The most gut-wrenching part of this whole desmadre?
Deb Haaland isn't just walking away from this betrayal - she's running on it. Haaland is running for governor of New Mexico in the 2026 gubernatorial election. And you can bet your last dollar that her campaign ads will be full of footage from that September 2023 groundbreaking ceremony in Corona, New Mexico, where she smiled for the cameras while breaking ground on the destruction of sacred Apache and Tohono O'odham sites.
¡Órale! Nothing says "champion of Indigenous rights" like turning the desecration of ancestral lands into a campaign talking point about "green jobs" and "clean energy leadership." I can already see the glossy mailers: "Deb Haaland: Bringing Billions in Investment and Thousands of Jobs to New Mexico!" Right next to a photo of transmission towers marching across the desert, with some fine print about "balancing economic development with environmental stewardship."
As The Washington Post reported, Haaland has built her career on "righting historical wrongs" and ensuring tribal voices are centered in federal decision-making. Her biography reads like an inspiring story of Indigenous resilience - a single mother who was sometimes on food stamps, graduated from college at 33, four days before giving birth, knows what it's like to have "$5 in your checking account."
But here's the thing about political careers: they have a way of making people forget where they came from. When SunZia came up for approval, Haaland had a decision to make. She could stand with the tribes who contacted federal agencies 21 separate times over 14 years, begging the government to reroute the project away from sacred sites. Or she could stand with corporate interests and her home state's economic development, knowing that New Mexico stands to reap billions from this project.
Guess which one she chose? And guess which one will look better on a gubernatorial campaign website?
The calculation is as transparent as desert air: approve the $11 billion gift to New Mexico while you're Interior Secretary, then run for governor, touting all the "green jobs" and economic development you brought to the state. Never mind that those jobs are built on the graves of Indigenous resistance. Never mind that those transmission towers carry the electricity of colonial violence across sacred landscapes.
¿Dónde está la vergüenza? Where's the shame in using Indigenous identity as political capital while actively participating in Indigenous dispossession? Haaland keeps her hair long and wears Native jewelry, but when it mattered most, she chose the same path every other Interior Secretary has chosen: corporate profits over cultural survival, state interests over sovereign rights, career advancement over ancestral protection.
The disappointment cuts deeper than a Sonoran summer because representation was supposed to mean something different. Having an Indigenous woman in charge of the Interior was supposed to transform the agency that has been "a tool of oppression against Indigenous peoples" for more than a century. Instead, we got the same colonial policies with better optics and a ribbon skirt at the swearing-in ceremony.
What the Ruling Actually Means
So what does this Ninth Circuit victory actually accomplish? In immediate practical terms, not much. Construction on SunZia continues while the legal challenge is being played out. According to Oklahoma Energy Today, the ruling gives the lawsuit "another chance" but doesn't halt the project.
The court found that the district judge erred in dismissing the case on the grounds of the statute of limitations. The BLM's 2023 notice to proceed with construction, not the 2015 route approval, was the "final agency action" that triggered the six-year window for legal challenges.
That means the tribes' 2024 lawsuit was timely, and their claims deserve to be heard on the merits.
If—and it's a big if—the tribes ultimately prevail, the court could order remedial actions. That might include pausing construction, requiring additional cultural studies, or even mandating route changes. In the most extreme scenario, a judge could order the removal of already-constructed infrastructure, though that's unlikely given the billions already invested.
More importantly, the ruling sends a signal to federal agencies and corporate developers that they can't simply run out the clock on tribal rights. The "sleight of hand" that Elizabeth Lewis described - promising consultation while manipulating procedural deadlines - won't be tolerated, at least not by this panel of judges.
The Broader Pattern of Broken Promises
SunZia is part of a larger pattern of environmental injustice that stretches from the borderlands to Indian Country and beyond. The same week as the Ninth Circuit ruling, the Supreme Court declined to hear Apache Stronghold's challenge to the Resolution Copper mine at Oak Flat, effectively green-lighting the destruction of another sacred Apache site. According to NBC News, Justice Neil Gorsuch called the court's refusal a "grievous mistake — one with consequences that threaten to reverberate for generations."
The message is clear: in the calculus of American power, corporate profits and energy infrastructure rank higher than Indigenous sacred sites and cultural survival. Whether it's copper for electric car batteries or transmission lines for wind farms, the "green transition" is being built on the bones of Indigenous resistance.
This isn't just about tribes - it's about all of us living in the sacrifice zones of the American empire. The same mentality that treats the San Pedro Valley as expendable treats the borderlands as a militarized zone, treats communities of color as dumping grounds for toxic waste, and treats immigrant families as deportation statistics.
Taking the Fight International
Frustrated by domestic courts and federal indifference, affected tribes have taken their case to the United Nations. Amy Juan, a Tohono O'odham member, brought news of the federal court ruling to the UN Permanent Forum on Indigenous Issues in New York. As she told the international body, "We are not in opposition to what is called 'green energy.' It was the process of how it was done. The project is going through without due process."
The UN appeal highlights how the United States continues to ignore the principles of "free, prior, and informed consent" outlined in the UN Declaration on the Rights of Indigenous Peoples. As Andrea Carmen of the International Indian Treaty Council put it, renewable energy companies are "doing the same thing as fossil fuel. It's just more trendy."
Going international is a smart strategic move. It reframes the issue from a domestic legal dispute to a matter of human rights and international law. It puts the US government in the uncomfortable position of defending colonial practices on the global stage. And it builds solidarity with Indigenous movements worldwide who are fighting similar battles against extractive industries.
The Path Forward: More Than Legal Victories
The Ninth Circuit ruling is significant, but it's not salvation. Legal victories are important, but they're not enough to transform the fundamental power imbalances that make projects like SunZia possible in the first place.
Real change requires building the kind of political movement that makes it too expensive, politically, economically, morally, for corporations and governments to ignore Indigenous rights. That means connecting the dots between environmental justice, Indigenous sovereignty, immigrant rights, and economic democracy.
It means supporting tribal nations not just when they're fighting in court, but when they're developing their own renewable energy projects on their own terms. The Tohono O'odham Nation, for example, has been working on solar projects that respect cultural values while providing clean energy and economic benefits to the community.
It means demanding that the "green transition" be just and equitable, not just clean. Environmental groups that support renewable energy at any cost should be challenged to prioritize Indigenous voices and rights in their advocacy.
Most importantly, it means recognizing that these struggles are connected. The same forces displacing Indigenous families from their ancestral lands are displacing Mexican and Central American families from theirs. The same border militarization that criminalizes migration also enables extractive industries to operate with impunity. The same corporate power that overrides tribal sovereignty overrides the sovereignty of working-class communities of all colors.
Adelante: Building Power in the Borderlands
Here in Southern Arizona, we are familiar with resistance. We know how to survive in the desert, how to build community across differences, how to keep fighting when the odds are stacked against us. The Ninth Circuit ruling reminds us that the system occasionally surprises us, but we can't count on courts to save us.
What we can count on is each other. We can support the tribal nations fighting SunZia by following their lead, amplifying their voices, and connecting their struggle to our own. We can demand that environmental organizations center Indigenous rights in their climate advocacy. We can pressure our representatives to actually follow through on campaign promises about environmental justice.
We can also support alternatives. Tribal communities across the Southwest are developing renewable energy projects that respect cultural values while providing clean power. Community-owned solar projects, energy democracy initiatives, and Indigenous-led climate organizing offer models for what a just transition could look like.
The fight against SunZia isn't over, and neither are the broader struggles for Indigenous sovereignty, environmental justice, and economic democracy. The Ninth Circuit gave the tribes another chance in court, but the real victory will come when we build enough power to make projects like SunZia impossible in the first place.
La lucha sigue, and so do we. The desert teaches patience and persistence—qualities we'll need in abundance as we continue to build the movement for justice in the borderlands and beyond.
Take Action:
Follow and support the Tohono O'odham Nation and San Carlos Apache Tribe as they continue their legal fight
Contact your representatives and demand federal agencies respect tribal consultation requirements
Support Indigenous-led renewable energy projects that prioritize cultural values alongside climate goals
Connect environmental justice work in your community to Indigenous sovereignty struggles
Subscribe to Three Sonorans Substack to stay informed about these critical borderlands issues
Keep Reading at Three Sonorans:
Biden's (and Deb Haaland's) Renewable Energy Betrayal: Tucson Native Voices Silenced
The Toxic Trail: SunZia Tramples Indigenous Rights Underfoot
Tribes Take SunZia Battle to U.N.: Indigenous Rights vs. Green Energy Greed
What questions do you have about this ruling and its implications for Indigenous communities? How do you think we can better connect environmental justice and Indigenous rights in our organizing? Leave a comment below and let's continue this conversation.
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More of the same. How sad!