Mongabay

🌿 Mongabay founder and CEO Rhett Ayers Butler has been awarded the 2025 Henry Shaw Medal by the Missouri Botanical Garden (St. Louis, U.S.) — one of the oldest and most prestigious honors in conservation and botanical science, established in 1893. The medal celebrates individuals whose work advances conservation, science, and public understanding of nature. While most recipients have been scientists, Rhett joins a distinguished group from beyond academia, including the National Geographic Society and the U.K.’s Prince Charles (now King Charles III). “It is a tremendous honor to receive the Henry Shaw Medal from such an esteemed institution,” Rhett said. “The Garden’s legacy of advancing science, conservation, and public understanding is an inspiration, and I am deeply grateful to be recognized alongside those who have contributed so much to protecting our planet.” Rhett founded Mongabay in 1999 after a life-changing encounter with a wild orangutan in Borneo — a moment that sparked a lifelong mission to tell the world’s untold environmental stories. Today, Mongabay has grown into a global newsroom with ~1,000 contributors in 80 countries, producing journalism in seven languages that informs decisions, holds power accountable, and empowers local communities to defend their ecosystems. 🗓️ He will receive the medal at a ceremony in St. Louis on Oct. 22. 🙏 A heartfelt thanks to the Missouri Botanical Garden for this recognition — and to all who make Mongabay’s work possible. Join us in celebrating independent journalism that protects nature and people. 💚 Help us keep doing what we do best. Donate: https://lnkd.in/gEyyuskg. 🌎 Read more on this by Bobby Bascomb: https://lnkd.in/gkK9U9An.

In a post-literate age, written journalism matters more than ever 📖 This month James Marriott warned (https://mongabay.cc/benXyr) that we are entering a “post-literate society.” He traced how the eighteenth-century “reading revolution” seeded democracy, science, and civil society, and argued that smartphones and short-form video are eroding the habits of deep reading that underpinned those gains. The Enlightenment required readers, not scrollers. For journalists, this is a sobering thesis. The written word is still uniquely suited to what Neil Postman called “following a line of thought”—classifying, reasoning, and interrogating ideas. Sentences weigh evidence, expose contradictions, and test logic. That scaffolding enables accountability and deliberation. Without it, decision-making tilts toward the emotive, the fragmentary, the theatrical. At Mongabay we see this distinction daily. When we investigate deforestation in Indonesia or expose fraudulent carbon schemes in Peru, it is the written investigation that informs policy, spurs enforcement, and empowers communities. Lawmakers, prosecutors, and Indigenous leaders cite the article itself—the words, the data, the documentation. Rarely is it the video alone that prompts action. Yet video is not irrelevant. It can capture attention, spark emotion, and reach audiences who may never read a long feature. Our short documentaries and explainers on Indigenous forest defenders or destructive fishing practices have extended reach and drawn new audiences into conversation with our reporting. But video and print are not equivalents. A video may persuade through images and sound; a written story persuades through evidence and reasoning. Text creates the record that can be cited in a lawsuit; video provides the imagery that lingers in memory. Each has a place in the information ecosystem, but they are not interchangeable. Written reporting remains indispensable for accountability because it creates the durable record policymakers, courts, and communities can cite. Video can at times act as a force multiplier, broadening reach and helping keep stories alive in the public imagination. Words build the case; images carry it farther. At Mongabay we measure success not by clicks but by what our stories enable: better governance, empowered communities, the spread of innovations, and more resilient ecosystems. In a world of proliferating screens, the discipline of the written word is more important than ever—paired with the creativity to bring those words into the feeds where people now spend their time. The full piece: https://mongabay.cc/n6GCMU

How reporting gets results The forest in northern Gabon didn’t look like a battleground. It held trails, fruit trees, and ancestral graves. When a logging concession encroached and the community of Massaha protested, little happened. Then the story was reported, documented, and read by people in a position to act. The environment minister revoked the permit and the government moved to protect the forest. The win wasn’t journalism’s alone; it moved faster because facts were public. This is how journalism drives impact: It supplies the oxygen action needs—credible information, in time, in public. Impact starts with agenda setting. In Sabah, Malaysia, coverage of a secret 100-year carbon-credit deal exposed terms, intermediaries, and missing consent. Once on the record, scrutiny stalled and then unraveled the plan. Incentives shift too. Markets and ministries respond when reputations are at risk and subsidies grow costly. Reporting on wood-pellet climate claims gave lawmakers specifics; hearings tightened and a firm lost access to public money. Protection matters. In Peru, stories about Indigenous communities facing land grabs and narcotrafficking assembled evidence that prosecutors could use. Supply chains show the pattern. Years of reporting on deforestation tied to cattle and leather in Paraguay helped put leather into the EU’s anti-deforestation rule. Journalists didn’t write the law; they made its absence impossible to defend. Solutions reporting helps by pairing problems with credible responses and testing whether they work. Coverage of agroforestry’s economics put numbers to yields, risk, and carbon; a major technology firm added it to its climate portfolio. Distribution matters. The audiences who turn information into action—policymakers, funders, prosecutors, compliance teams, local leaders—come through quieter channels. Searchable databases & publishing in Indonesian, Spanish or Hindi reach where decisions are made. Guardrails matter. Journalism can become extractive. The antidote is collaboration with local reporters, sharing data with communities, and protecting sources. Measure outcomes too: Beyond clicks, track when a tender is canceled, a supplier is changed, or a land title is won. Humility is essential. Journalism is a catalyst, not a cure. Return to Massaha: the protected forest is neither pristine nor permanent. But a path opened because a community insisted on being heard and a newsroom insisted on being precise. Multiply that dynamic and you get a more subtle kind of impact: Course corrections that add up to a change in direction. In an era awash in synthetic content, that older craft — finding out what’s true & telling people in time for it to matter — remains civic infrastructure. Journalism at its best doesn’t demand credit. It demands results. And it earns them by doing the mundane things that make democracies and markets less blind: Showing up, listening, checking, publishing, and then following up.

She built a newsroom across 7 countries—Here’s how she did it 🛠️ As Mongabay expands its impact globally, few leaders embody its mission more fully than María Isabel Torres, the Program Director of Mongabay Latam. Based in Lima, Torres has spent the past nine years not only managing Mongabay’s Latin American bureau but also shaping its identity. Under her leadership, Mongabay Latam has grown into a regional powerhouse for environmental journalism, known for its investigative rigor, collaborative ethos, and commitment to spotlighting urgent environmental issues. This interview is part of Conversations with Mongabay Leaders (https://mongabay.cc/yZVPX5), a series exploring the people driving change within our organization. Torres’s story is one of vision, resilience, and deep belief in journalism as a force for accountability. Torres didn’t begin in environmental journalism. Her early career was rooted in political reporting during one of Peru’s most turbulent eras. Inspired by journalism that exposed corruption under the Fujimori regime, she developed a lasting respect for its public value. Later roles in the NGO sector and Peru’s Ministry of Environment revealed the complex links between environmental and political issues, setting the stage for her return to journalism with a new focus. When the chance came to lead Mongabay’s Latin America initiative, Torres saw it as more than a job — it was an opportunity to build something lasting. Her training in anthropology, deep regional understanding, and journalistic instincts helped her create a newsroom that transcends borders. She envisioned Mongabay Latam as a collaborative platform able to report with depth, context, and nuance. Torres stands out as a leader who nurtures both talent and purpose. She has built a multicultural, multidisciplinary team spanning seven countries and working with over 90 partner media outlets. She looks for alignment with Mongabay’s values, not just technical skill. Her leadership style emphasizes empathy, clarity, and mutual respect — all essential for building a resilient newsroom. At the heart of her work are people: Those defending land and biodiversity, and those who trust journalists to tell their stories with dignity. She is especially committed to amplifying the voices of women — journalists, scientists, and Indigenous leaders — whose contributions are too often overlooked. As Mongabay Latam nears its 10th anniversary, Torres is focused on the future: How to grow, how to innovate, and how to foster a culture of integrity and safety in a region where journalism can be both vital and dangerous. Through it all, she remains guided by curiosity and the belief that journalism, when done with care and collaboration, can truly make a difference. In this conversation, Torres reflects on her path, the lessons she’s learned, and what it takes to lead a newsroom committed to impact. The interview: https://mongabay.cc/I0j3ci

Why we pair crisis reporting with stories of hope 🌈 I often return to this series of images, which I took in 2022 in Jambi, Indonesia. At first glance, it seems to capture something hopeful: a full-circle rainbow arcing over a lush green landscape. But look closer, and you’ll see what lies beneath the beauty—a vast palm oil plantation, carved out of what was once native rainforest. For me, the photos encapsulate one of the central paradoxes we face in environmental journalism: the coexistence of wonder and loss, resilience and destruction, all in the same frame. The deeper we go into environmental journalism, the more paradoxes we encounter. At Mongabay, we sit with a particularly difficult one: The more intimately we understand the scale of ecological loss, the harder it becomes to stay hopeful—yet the people living closest to the crisis are often the ones imagining the boldest futures. Our work demands precision. It requires us to report on vanishing rainforests, vanishing species, vanishing time. To bear witness to lives uprooted by mining, by heat, by flood. To document not just data, but grief. There is no room to look away. And yet, only telling what’s broken isn’t enough. A steady drumbeat of devastation can numb readers, or worse, convince them that nothing can be done. That’s where the other side of the paradox comes in: when we highlight real-world responses—stories of reforestation, Indigenous leadership, coral restoration, and agroecology—we don’t dilute the truth. We expand it. We show that amid the unraveling, people are still choosing to protect what they love. This is the premise of our solutions journalism: that spotlighting success doesn’t deny the crisis: It helps prevent burnout, fuels action, and fosters resilience. It’s not about cheerleading or false optimism. It’s about documenting the full picture of what’s happening, including what’s working, so that others might learn, replicate, or support it. The people we interview often embody this paradox. A park manager in Indonesia rewilding a degraded forest without recognition. A fisher in Madagascar rebuilding local governance structures without external financial incentives. A scientist in Colombia restoring trust between communities and conservation, without formal support. They carry loss in one hand and possibility in the other. They keep going not because they’re certain of victory, but because not trying would be a deeper betrayal. Their stories—and the solutions they point to—are not afterthoughts. They are strategies for survival. They are how we stitch meaning back into the work, especially when the data alone feels too heavy to hold. Hope, then, is not the opposite of truth. It is what allows us to live with truth without giving up. In amplifying what’s working, we give readers—and ourselves—permission to keep imagining, and building, a future still worth fighting for.

From sports desk to nature’s frontlines: David Akana’s unlikely path to lead Mongabay Africa In an era when biodiversity, climate, and development challenges are mounting across Africa, Akana is helping shape a model of journalism rooted in rigor, inclusion, and long-term impact. As the head of Mongabay Africa, he oversees editorial strategy, partnerships, fundraising, and newsroom operations. But his role is also deeply personal, informed by a career spanning sports reporting, international development communications, and frontline environmental journalism. Akana’s path into the field began over two decades ago in Cameroon. A former sports journalist with a deep love of football, he changed course in 2002, joining IUCN in Central Africa. At the time, the decision was pragmatic—financial stability & editorial opportunity—but it marked a turning point. “Once I was out in the field,” he says, “I realized how high the stakes truly were.” For Akana, journalism isn’t just about facts—it’s about helping people make sense of the systems shaping their lives, particularly where power is concentrated & rights are tenuous. In such contexts, he argues, journalism can still amplify marginalized voices, expose wrongdoing, and inform communities. At Mongabay Africa, Akana brings a deep understanding of the continent’s diversity & its overlooked environmental narratives. Since taking the helm, he’s built a 17-person team, launched multilingual editorial programs, and expanded reporting from the Congo Basin to coastal West Africa & the Horn. He’s especially focused on the future: launching a Swahili-language edition & laying groundwork for coverage in other languages. “Reporting in local languages,” he says, “is how Mongabay can succeed in Africa over the long term.” He’s also realistic about the challenges. In today’s fragmented information landscape, where greenwashing and disinformation thrive, environmental journalism doesn’t create instant impact. But Akana believes credibility & consistency still matter. “Impact and influence take time,” he says. “But when done well, journalism can shape policies, empower communities, and change narratives.” That belief is evident in Mongabay’s recent work—from investigating extractive industries in the Democratic Republic of Congo to reporting on REDD+ schemes & land-use conflicts. In some cases, this coverage has led to corporate accountability, influenced investment decisions, and brought community voices to global forums. What distinguishes Akana’s leadership is his focus on mentorship & team-building grounded in Africa’s diversity. He doesn’t see himself as exceptional—just someone who stayed curious, kept learning, and was willing to make mistakes. “Any journalist,” he says, “can become an environmental journalist if they have the commitment.” With biodiversity & climate defining Africa’s future, Akana sees Mongabay as playing a vital, steady role in equipping citizens to navigate and shape these changes.

I’ve been studying nonprofits for months and I finally understand why some get funded and others don’t. In the business world, founders have stopped hiding behind logos. They show up as themselves. They talk about what they believe. They build trust by being human. But in the nonprofit world? Too many leaders are still hiding behind the organization’s logo behind abstract missions, third-person bios, and generic social posts. Here’s the truth: People follow people. Not logos. Not carefully-worded taglines. Not mission statements that sound like they were written by a committee. We follow people with a story. People who show up. People who care and aren’t afraid to say why. Look around: Which organizations are making the most noise, getting the most funding, building the biggest movements? It’s not the oldest ones. Or the ones with the biggest staff. It’s the ones where someone steps forward and says: 🪼 “Here’s why I care.” 🪼 “Here’s what I’m doing about it.” 🪼 “Here’s how you can help.” That kind of clarity and leadership is magnetic. Take Rhett Ayers Butler for example. I’ve had people boldly tell me he deserves a price for his work. I 100% agree, but why people believe in his mission so much? Because we can tell why he cares. Because we resonate with his values. Because his personal story fascinates us. Because so many have started caring because of him. Do you want more examples? Look at Roberta Boscolo Nonprofit leaders who make us feel their mission as if it was ours. So if you’re leading a nonprofit, big or small, remember this: Your mission needs your voice. Your passion. Your story. Because people don’t just donate to causes. They rally behind the people who bring those causes to life. If you’re ready to stop hiding and start connecting, I’m cheering you on. Let’s make your mission personal. Because that’s what moves people to care. #NonprofitLeadership #Storytelling #MissionDriven #SocialImpact #ClimateAction #ScienceCommunication #FounderVoice #TrustBuilding #nonprofit #ClimateAction #climatechange #conservation #storytelling

From a jungle creek in Borneo to a global environmental newsroom My journey into sustainability didn’t begin in a classroom or a boardroom—but in a rainforest in Borneo. I was a teenager, cooling my feet beside a jungle creek, when a wild orangutan emerged in the canopy overhead. We made eye contact—just for a few seconds—but that moment stayed with me. A few months later, I learned the very forest where that encounter happened was slated for destruction to make paper. That news devastated me—and lit a fire that still burns today. I began researching tropical rainforests and wrote a book in college to raise awareness. When the publisher said it wouldn’t have the budget for color photos, I uploaded the entire manuscript online so people could read it for free. That became the foundation for Mongabay, named after an island off Madagascar. It started as a side project. But I left a job in Silicon Valley to run it full-time from my apartment, publishing articles that people began translating into dozens of languages. The appetite for credible, accessible environmental information was clear—especially from regions overlooked by mainstream U.S. media. In 2011, I founded a nonprofit and launched Mongabay-Indonesia, the first independent environmental news service in Bahasa Indonesia (Indonesian) covering issues across the archipelago. Within three months, it became the most-read outlet of its kind. More importantly, it was helping inform policy, support frontline and Indigenous communities, and hold powerful interests to account. That success shaped a bigger vision: a decentralized, global network of environmental journalists. Today, Mongabay has bureaus in Latin America, India, and Africa. We work with more than 1,000 journalists in over 80 countries and publish in multiple languages. Our stories are freely republished by outlets ranging from grassroots newsletters to national newspapers. We support emerging reporters through paid fellowships in low- and middle-income countries, and our coverage spans ocean health, Indigenous rights, and science-based conservation. Our aim is simple but ambitious: Ensure that credible environmental information is available to everyone—especially those in a position to act. We don’t just report on problems; we highlight solutions. And we measure success not by pageviews, but by real-world outcomes. At its core, Mongabay exists to help people make better decisions—whether they’re policymakers, investors, conservationists, or community leaders. I didn’t set out to build a news organization. I set out to tell stories that mattered. Along the way, I found a mission—and a responsibility—that continues to grow. [This post is an abbreviated response to a recent media question about my journey into sustainability]