“We have become the problem,” said Representative Paul Ryan, in a plea for some semblance of sanity as he laid out the terms under which he would serve as House speaker.

At the least, Congress should follow the advice given medical students on day one: First, do no harm, from the Latin primum non nocere. So it is amusing — the antics of this laughable, unlikable, dysfunctional Congress — until it reaches your backyard. In California, the threat is to a stretch of beach that a community has spent a decade raising funds to protect. In the Pacific Northwest, it is 42 acres of woodland at the edge of a metro area of three million people. In Kansas, it’s a historic site.

Each of these places is extraordinary in its own way. And the efforts to protect them are models of community-driven initiatives. Typically, people raise private money on their own to buy land, or save an old home or battleground of some significance, and then use matching funds from the Land and Water Conservation revenue to complete the purchase.

Every day, the fund generates about $2.5 million, from leases on offshore oil and gas drilling. So nothing comes directly from taxpayers. Its simplicity is in its symmetry: Rent money from resource extraction is redirected into restoration of our shared spaces. In this way, more than five million acres have been protected. National park sites, from Gettysburg to the Grand Tetons, also depend on this fund to buy private parcels.

What’s not to like? Ask Representative Rob Bishop of Utah, chairman of the House Natural Resources Committee. He’s the villain in this piece, a grim-faced ideologue who clearly doesn’t like public land or parks. If Bishop would only get out of the way and let renewal of this popular fund come up for a full vote, it would pass with bipartisan support, as evidenced by commitment letters from members of both parties. The fund was last renewed 25 years ago, and sailed through with nary a complaint. This money has helped to protect places in all 50 states and 98 percent of American counties. But the program is dead now, as of Oct. 1.