Yellowstone’s Ending Stirs Up Debate

Well, Yellowstone has finally ridden off into the sunset, and what a ride it was. Taylor Sheridan’s modern Western epic wrapped up with an ending that was, depending on who you ask, either poetic and fitting or a sly bit of Hollywood social engineering. And if you’ve spent any time on the conservative side of social media lately, you’ll know there’s no shortage of opinions about it.

Now, let’s cut to the chase. Yes, Kevin Costner’s absence left a gaping hole in those final episodes. Say what you will about the behind-the-scenes drama, but John Dutton was the spine of the series, and his quiet authority, blended with unyielding resolve, was sorely missed. Still, Sheridan managed to tie things up in a way that felt true to the show’s central themes: sacrifice, legacy, and the deep, sometimes brutal bond between people and the land they’re sworn to protect.

But then came the controversy. The Dutton ranch, after generations of blood, sweat, and more than a few trips to the infamous train station, was sold—for a pittance—to the Native tribe. Cue the online uproar. “Woke propaganda!” cried some. “A psyop to normalize white landowners being forced off their property!” shouted others.

Let’s address the elephant in the room: The final chapter wasn’t about surrender. It wasn’t about some Hollywood agenda to make the white landowner symbolically hand over the keys to the ranch. It was about stewardship.

From the very beginning, the Duttons and Chairman Rainwater were more alike than they were different. Both saw the land as something sacred—something to be protected from the soulless march of developers who would carve it up, pave it over, and turn it into overpriced subdivisions and tacky strip malls. The Duttons fought for the land in their way; the Natives in theirs. But in the end, they shared a common enemy: unchecked, unprincipled "progress."

Sheridan wasn’t preaching leftist dogma; he was mourning the loss of something irreplaceable. The Duttons didn’t lose their ranch to activists with placards and hashtags—they gave it up willingly, with the understanding that Rainwater’s people would honor the same covenant they had upheld for generations.

Dana Loesch, to her credit, nailed it. The final episode wasn’t about tearing down statues or rewriting history. It was about respect—respect for sacrifice, for legacy, and for the land itself. Mo, one of the show’s most steady and honorable characters, made that crystal clear when he scolded those young Native kids desecrating graves. That scene wasn’t just powerful—it was necessary.

And let’s not forget the prophecy. In 1883, James Dutton was told that in seven generations, the land would return to the Natives. It wasn’t some sneaky political metaphor—it was the fulfillment of a narrative thread Sheridan wove all the way back in the first prequel.

This was never about who owns the land. As Elsa Dutton’s haunting voice reminded us in the finale, “Raw land. Wild land. Free land can never be owned.” It’s about who cares for it, who stewards it, who sacrifices for it.

Yes, the optics of the ending might have been jarring to some on the right, and that’s understandable. Hollywood doesn’t have the best track record when it comes to respecting conservative values, and it’s easy to see why some viewers felt betrayed. But Sheridan didn’t betray anyone—he stayed true to the soul of his story.