Rethinking the Endangered Species Act: From Saving Species to Protecting Ecosystems

There was always a flaw in the Endangered Species Act. Although it states explicitly in the original 1973 text that it was meant to protect both individual species and ecosystems, it contains no provisions to carry out this specific function. By claiming in court that the ESA’s ban on harm to individual species includes destroying a species’ habitat, conservationists were able to close that gap for decades. The Trump administration is now attempting to disprove that claim by arguing that the only way to damage or kill an endangered species is to physically destroy it—pull it out by the roots or kill it directly.

Since 1975, the most frequent threat to endangered species in the United States has been habitat destruction. The majority of endangered species will not be adequately protected by the Endangered Species Act if the administration is successful in changing the definition of harm to exclude it.

The fact that changing the definition of a single phrase can negate so much of the act’s power exposes its main flaw. To give a classic example, if an old-growth forest is preserved for a single species of owl, the forest and all of its inhabitants suddenly lose protection if the owl goes extinct anyway (as the northern spotted owl very well could). Furthermore, rather than using habitat protection to support populations before they collapse, the law mandates that the government take drastic and costly steps to save the most endangered species.

In 1992, author and conservationist Suzanne Winckler wrote, “The act has no concept of preventive medicine. On the contrary, it aims to save the most difficult cases, the brain-dead and terminally ill equivalent.”

However, conservationists have been reluctant to discuss this because they believe that if they start a debate about the law, they could lose everything. Despite its shortcomings, the ESA is still regarded as one of the most robust and successful biodiversity-protection laws in the world. It was passed during a special time in the early 1970s, when a Republican president could speak about the country’s “environmental awakening.” The Trump administration has now reignited that debate, prompting some conservationists to push for a long-overdue discussion on how best to safeguard ecosystems and species.

What if we simply protected ecosystems directly? This has long been seen as a straightforward alternative to the ESA’s convoluted process for protecting places. According to a 2023 report by NatureServe, a nonprofit that gathers and analyzes biodiversity data, 41 percent of terrestrial American ecosystems are at risk of collapse—and most are not protected.

According to environmental philosopher Jay Odenbaugh of Lewis & Clark College, shifting to ecosystem protection would eliminate the need to “chase down every last little species” and would be more effective. “Everything cannot be saved,” Odenbaugh says. “We are attempting to safeguard more significant structural elements.”

Conservationist Reed Noss, of the Southeastern Grasslands Institute and the University of Florida, agrees that some species need tailored protections, such as large carnivores targeted by persecution and orchids collected for illicit trade. But he argues that preserving sizable portions of each type of American ecosystem could protect about 85% of all species. Since the 1990s, Noss has advocated for a “native ecosystem–protection act” to complement the ESA.

The United States already has classification systems for ecosystems. For example, the U.S. National Vegetation Classification uses scales ranging from very specific (like “Eastern White Pine–Eastern Hemlock Lower New England–Northern Piedmont Forest”) to broad (“Forest & Woodland”). An ecosystem-protection act could select or adapt one of these systems and ensure that adequate portions of each ecosystem type are protected.

Ecologists would debate how to classify ecosystems, and philosophers question whether ecosystems are more than the sum of their organisms. But for policy purposes, categories that resonate with the public—like the Great Basin sagebrush steppe, the Everglades, or the tallgrass prairie—would matter most. Similar efforts in the 1990s, such as the Northwest Forest Plan, aimed to protect old-growth forests in general while safeguarding the northern spotted owl, though they addressed only one type of ecosystem.

Directly protecting ecosystems also acknowledges their dynamic nature. Over time, species migrate and shift due to natural processes and climate change. Odenbaugh and Noss argue that ecosystems remain cohesive enough to be protected even as their species composition changes. For instance, Florida’s wet flatwoods and sandhill ecosystems would still retain their defining features regardless of certain species shifts. A well-connected network of diverse ecosystems, linked by wildlife corridors, could protect the majority of species without requiring individual management plans for every organism.

Still, many conservationists are hesitant to back such a law. They believe the current ESA can achieve similar results—if used differently. Kierán Suckling, executive director of the Center for Biological Diversity, envisions a conservation-minded president who could wield the ESA’s powers decisively to protect ecosystems. He notes that the law already grants wide authority to agencies like Fish and Wildlife, provided actions are backed by science. These powers could include relocating species for climate adaptation, expanding critical habitat, and considering historic ranges.

Daniel Rohlf, a law professor at Lewis & Clark College who has studied the ESA for over 30 years, agrees that bolder interpretations of the law could survive legal challenges. The ESA could, for example, treat critical habitat as untouchable, factor greenhouse gas emissions into project reviews, and protect areas based on their potential rather than current range. “Under the current version of the act, you could do all that tomorrow,” Rohlf says.

Realistically, passing a brand-new ecosystem-protection law would be politically difficult—even under a Democratic administration. Both parties currently prioritize reducing regulations and expanding development, despite public polling showing that 60% of Americans support stricter environmental laws.

Suckling believes legal challenges will block or reverse Trump’s attempts to weaken the ESA. “We are confident we’ll overturn this one as well, just as we overturned all his first-term ESA regulation changes,” he says.

Still, an ecosystem-protection law could be a unifying idea. Americans across the political spectrum value the nation’s landscapes, and protecting ecosystems doesn’t necessarily mean banning human activity. Many ecosystems can coexist with ranching, recreation, and traditional tribal management. Maintaining these ecosystems creates jobs—often outdoors, physical, and accessible without a college degree. Farmers and ranchers could be compensated for stewardship, providing them with stable income alongside their agricultural work.

The United States is not only an idea but also a place—a rich patchwork of ecosystems valuable not only for biodiversity, game, carbon storage, and water filtration, but also as part of our shared identity. Forests, prairies, mountains, coastlines, and swamps shape who we are. We can choose to protect them because we love them.