“Without some kind of action, our crown jewel parks are on an unsustainable path of deterioration,” warned economist Tate Watkins in a recent interview. That sense of urgency now shapes a sweeping transformation in how America’s national parks welcome visitors—and who gets to enjoy them.
Starting this summer, foreign tourists will face substantially higher entry fees at U.S. national parks. This move, ordered by President Donald Trump, is projected to generate over $90 million a year—money earmarked for fixing trails, repairing roads, and upgrading visitor centers. For popular parks like Yellowstone, Yosemite, and the Grand Canyon, the new fees could double or even triple current gate revenues. The rationale? Americans already support the parks through taxes, while overseas visitors don’t, making the surcharge a way to “ensure that national parks remain accessible and well-maintained for future generations of U.S. residents and tourists,” according to the Department of the Interior’s budget brief.
Yet, there’s more to the story than just dollars and cents. The executive order also gives U.S. residents preferential access to coveted permits and lotteries—think backcountry passes and timed-entry slots that have become hot commodities as visitation soars. This means Americans will have an edge in snagging those sunrise spots at Arches or elusive Half Dome permits, while international travelers may find themselves lower on the list.
For gateway communities—those vibrant towns just outside park boundaries—these changes could be a double-edged sword. National parks fuel over $26 billion in annual spending and support more than 415,000 jobs. While the influx of infrastructure funds promises better facilities and smoother roads, some local businesses worry that fewer international guests could mean less foot traffic in their shops and restaurants. Still, experts like Watkins argue that the impact on visitation will be “a negligible amount,” noting that for most overseas travelers, the fee hike is “a tiny slice of their overall budget.”
The shake-up doesn’t stop at the ticket booth. Trump’s order also revokes longstanding diversity, equity, and inclusion (DEI) initiatives within the National Park Service. These programs, championed by previous administrations, aimed to ensure that “every American sees a reflection of themselves in the parks,” as former NPS Director Chuck Sams told USA TODAY. The rollback has led to the suspension of transformative efforts like the NPS Academy, a paid internship that for 14 years brought young people from underrepresented backgrounds into park careers. As reported, the program’s closure came alongside mass layoffs, leaving many to wonder who will tell the stories of communities historically excluded from these landscapes.
The roots of these representation gaps run deep. As KangJae “Jerry” Lee, a professor at NC State, explains, “Our research shows just how persistently American parks have been defined, conceptualized and managed by powerful white elites who were racists and eugenicists.” His work traces the legacy of exclusion from the displacement of Black residents for Central Park’s construction to the forced removal of Indigenous peoples for Yellowstone. Today, only 23% of national park visitors are people of color, a stark reminder of these historic injustices (source).
For park lovers who believe in the power of public lands to unite and inspire, these changes spark both hope and concern. The promise of better-maintained trails and facilities is welcome, especially as record-breaking crowds put pressure on aging infrastructure. But as DEI initiatives fade, advocates worry that the stories of Black, Indigenous, and other marginalized communities may once again be left untold.
As the National Park Service faces its largest budget cut in history—over $1 billion, with thousands of jobs lost—these new fees and policies represent a dramatic pivot in how America funds, manages, and shares its wildest places. Whether this approach will preserve both the parks’ beauty and their relevance for all remains a question that only time—and future visitors—can answer.
