The Black Hills of South Dakota and Wyoming, a region steeped in natural beauty and spiritual significance, are once again at the heart of a heated battle over gold. More than 150 years after the first gold rush drew thousands of settlers, displacing Native Americans and sparking a legacy of conflict, the soaring price of gold—now topping $3,000 an ounce—has reignited interest in mining the treasured landscape. Companies, lured by the promise of enormous profits, are planning new projects that could forever change the region’s character, prompting fierce opposition from Native tribes and environmentalists who warn of irreversible consequences.
Spanning over 1.2 million acres, the Black Hills rise from the Great Plains, their pine-clad slopes home to iconic sites like Mount Rushmore and a patchwork of state parks that draw millions of tourists each year. But for the Lakota Sioux, the Black Hills are far more than a tourist destination; they are the spiritual heart of their identity. As Lilias Jarding, executive director of the Black Hills Clean Water Alliance, put it in a statement to KELO-TV, "Our enjoyment of the Black Hills as a peaceful place, a sacred place, is disturbed."
The current gold rush is a story shaped as much by history as by economics. Back in 1868, the U.S. government signed a treaty recognizing Sioux ownership of the Black Hills. That agreement was soon broken after gold was discovered, and the land was seized, opening the region to a flood of settlers. The Supreme Court would later affirm the Sioux's right to compensation, but the tribe has never accepted the money, maintaining their claim to the land. The dispute remains unresolved, casting a long shadow over every new mining proposal.
Today, the stakes are higher than ever. Gold is worth ten times what it was when the historic Homestake Mine—the largest and deepest in the Western Hemisphere—closed in 2002. According to Joseph Cavatoni, senior market strategist at the World Gold Council, the latest price surge is fueled by global economic uncertainty. "Gold tends to be a stable asset," Cavatoni told KELO-TV. "That actually performs well in inflationary times, and holds its value in recessionary times. That's why gold as an asset in investment."
With prices at record highs, companies like Coeur Mining and Dakota Gold are ramping up their efforts in the Black Hills. Coeur Mining currently operates the region’s only active gold mine, but Dakota Gold has announced plans for a new open-pit mine, set to begin operations in 2029. The company’s president and chief operating officer, Jack Henris, estimates the project will create up to 250 jobs and could generate as much as $400 million in tax revenue for the state. Dakota Gold pegs the mine’s net present value at between $1.6 billion and $2.1 billion, according to data reported by KELO-TV.
Henris insists that Dakota Gold is committed to responsible development. "Most of the people that work here are from this area and just love to live here," he said. "So we're a big part of the Hills and we love them just as much as other folks." He added that the company will conduct thorough environmental studies and surveys of soil and vegetation to ensure safe operation. But for many, these assurances ring hollow.
Modern gold mining, critics argue, bears little resemblance to the pick-and-shovel prospecting of the 19th century. Today’s operations rely on massive trucks and diggers that carve deep, multi-level pits into the earth. The rock is then crushed and treated with chemicals like cyanide to extract the gold—a process that, once complete, leaves the land permanently altered. As Colin Paterson, professor emeritus of geological engineering at the South Dakota School of Mines and Technology, explained to KELO-TV, "To extract it, the rock is crushed and then a chemical like cyanide is used to dissolve the mineral and remove it. The land can never return to its original state."
Environmentalists and Native American groups are alarmed by the risks. The Black Hills Clean Water Alliance, Lakota People's Law Project, and others point to the region’s troubled history with mining accidents. Coeur’s Wharf Mine has reported nearly 200 toxic spills, and the Homestake Mine was shut down after contaminating a nearby creek. While Coeur’s environmental manager, Jasmine McCauley, maintains that each spill was "thoroughly investigated, mitigated, and corrective actions are put in place to prevent reoccurrence," suspicion lingers. Activists worry that the cumulative impact of new and expanded mining operations could be catastrophic.
The numbers are stark. According to Jarding, "There are currently active mining claims on 271,000 acres in the Black Hills. That's 20% of the whole Black Hills that is potentially going to be subject to mining." Environmentalists warn that such expansion risks transforming the region into an open-pit mining district, erasing its unique cultural and touristic value.
For the Lakota Sioux and other Native peoples, the fight is not just about environmental protection—it’s about justice and the sanctity of a land they never ceded. Taylor Gunhammer, an Oglala Sioux and local organizer with the Indigenous advocacy group NDN Collective, summed up the deeper issue: "There's a central truth about mining in the Black Hills in that it was never the most mineral rich place there ever was. It's not even the actual mineral content of the Black Hills that is so attractive to mining companies. It's the permissive nature of the officials who oversee mining."
This permissiveness is a sore point. Some proposed projects, like Dakota Gold’s open-pit mine, are located on private land and thus subject only to state—not federal—regulations. That distinction, critics argue, makes it easier for companies to move forward with less oversight and fewer safeguards.
Proponents of new mining projects tout the benefits: jobs, tax revenue, and a boost to the local economy. They argue that with proper management and modern technology, environmental risks can be minimized. But opponents counter that the costs—both tangible and intangible—are too great. They point to the permanent scars left by past mining, the risk of water contamination, and the violation of sacred sites as evidence that some places should remain off-limits.
This debate is hardly new, but it has taken on fresh urgency as gold prices soar and mining claims proliferate. President Trump’s executive order in March, which called for expedited permitting and reviews to increase American mineral production, has further fueled industry optimism—and stoked fears among those who see the Black Hills as irreplaceable.
As the region faces a new wave of prospectors, the question remains: Can the promise of economic growth be balanced with the need to protect a landscape that is both ecologically fragile and culturally sacred? For now, the future of the Black Hills hangs in the balance, caught between the lure of gold and the enduring claims of history, identity, and stewardship.
Whatever comes next, one thing is clear—the Black Hills are more than just a patch of land with gold beneath the soil. They are a living symbol of struggle, memory, and hope for generations past and yet to come.
